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EPISTLES 



TO A 



FRIEND IN TOWN, 



GOLCONDA'S FETE, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



CHANDOS LEIGH, Esq. 



NEW EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. 



LONDON: 

HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY. 
NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 



1831 




LONDON : 
PRINTED BY SAMUU BENTLLY. 
Dorset Street, Fleet Street. 



TO 



SIR JOHN THOMAS CLARIDGE, 

OF THE 

MIDDLE TEMPLE; 

THE FOLLOWING POEMS ARE INSCRIBED, 
BY HIS SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND. 



CHANDOS LEIGH 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

First Epistle to a Friend in Town 3 

Second Epistle to a Friend in Town .... 17 

Third Epistle to a Friend in Town . . . . 37 

Fourth Epistle to a Friend in Town . . . 52 

Notes 83 

The Queen of Golconda's Fete 109 

Notes 119 

The View 123 

Notes 149 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Invitation to the Banks of the Avon .... 157 

Ode on the Death of the Princess Charlotte . . 162 

Lines to the Memory of Canova 168 



VI CONTEXTS. 

Page 

Verses on Napoleon Buonaparte .... 173 

On the Death of a Friend 176 

Written in an Album at Chamouni . . . 178 

To my Infant Child 179 

To the Memory of Collins 181 

Nothing 183 

Verses written in Stoneleigh Park .... 185 

Lines written at Rome • . 187 

To the Rev. \V. W. on the Birthday of his Daughter . 189 

Dives Loquitur . - . . . . . . 190 

Lines written on seeing the Bodies of two Beautiful 

Women, cast away near Milford . . . . 193 

True Love 195 

England 197 

Notes 202 

Steephill ......... 204 

Extemporaneous Lines 206* 

Pseudo- Patriotism 208 

Stanzas addressed to the Sea ..... 209 

Verses to Bernard Barton 216 

Willersley 218 

Vittoria Colonna 222 

Notes 225 

Salerno 229 

Notes 233 

Song ........•• 236 

Addressed to my little Girl . . . . . 238 



CONTENTS, 1 Vll 



POEMS WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH. 

Page 

A Fragment . 243 

Verses on leaving Harrow School . ... 246 

To my Sister on her Birthday .... 250 

Verses on the Death of General Fitzpatrick . . 253 

The Deserted Friend ..... 255 

On Kenilworth Castle .... 259 

Offa, King of Mercia . . . . .261 

The World as it is . . . . . 263 

Notes ....... 26/ 

Rosamond, a Fragment .... 268 

Brutus • . . . . . .271 

On the Death of Rosa ..... 273 

Verses in Commemoration of the Second Centenary of 

Shakspeare . . , . . .275 

A Character . . . . . 279 

The absent Poet to his Mistress . . . .282 

The Death of Hossein .... 286 

Verses on the Death of the Right Hon. Richard Brinsley 

Sheridan . . . . . .291 

An Evening in Cuba ..... 293 

The Lament of Altamont .... 294 

Note ....... 299 

Freedom ...... 300 

The Storm ...... 302 

The Song of Nouzonihar .... 303 

To the Lady .... 305 



Vlll CONTEXTS. 

Page 

Kecollections at . 306 

Note . . . . . 311 

Address to my Cigar . . . . .312 

The Wood-Nymph ..... 314 

Written on a fine Morning • .315 

Believe me, she is true indeed . . . 318 

Verses on Hawthornden .... 320 

Note . . . . 321 

Perfectibility . . . . 322 

A Sea View ... .327 

To a Lark . . . . .328 



FOUR EPISTLES 



TO 



A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



It is in our power 
(Unless we fear that apes can tutor us) to 
Ee masters of our manners. What need I 
Affect another's gait, or be fond of 
Another's way of speech, when by mine own 
I may be reasonably conceived % * * * 

* * * Why am I bound 

By any generous bond to follow him [who] 
Follows his tailor, haply so long, until 
The follow'd make pursuit? Or let me know, 
Why mine own barber is unbless'd, (with him 
My poor chin too,) for it 's not scissor'd just 
To such a favourite's glass? 

Shakspeare and Fletcher's Two Noble Kinsmen. 



FIRST EPISTLE 



A FRIEND IN TOWN, 



B 2 



non tibi parvum 
Iiigeniura non incultum est et turpiter hirtum, 
Seu linguam causis acuis, seu civica jura 
Respondere paras, seu condis amabile carmen. 

HORAT, 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



How many years are gone since first we met 

In Town ! the day is well remember' d yet ; 

Thou, a Young Templar, panting for renown, 

Myself the veriest Idler on the Town. 

Yet some few moments thou from toil could'st spare, 

To toast in wine-cups that o'erflow'd, the fair. 

Ah ! little deem'd I then, that I should love 

Elsewhere than in the Poet's lays — a grove. 

" The sober certainty of waking bliss " 

Is what I now enjoy, and truly this. 

Though vex'd with head-aches, yet when free from pain 

Give me a novel, and I laugh at rain. 



6 FIRST EPISTLE 

Who would with Richardson or Fielding part. 
That loves to trace the workings of the heart ? 
Few can excite the intellectual smile 
Like them, or dissipate November's bile. 

Books have their charms, society has more : 
Life for the wise has numerous joys in store. 
The wise ne'er feel the languor of ennui, 
Nor care how Whig and Tory disagree. 
But every hour is well enjoy' d by those 
Who thus alternate labour and repose - . 
Their farms, their gardens, ask a constant care : 
With them the Sabbath is a day of prayer. 
Then for amusement how they love t' explore 
The woods, or down the river ply the oar, 
When that the bright-hair'd sun, with mellow'd 

glow, 
Pours his full splendour on the fields below. 
What though the evening promises no play ? 
Though " heavily in clouds rolls on the day?" 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 

The laugh, the song, the sports that intervene, 
(Home-felt delights,) must quickly banish spleen. 
How blest are they whose days thus glide away ! 
Even in old age they scarcely feel decay ; 
Vigorous in mind, and cheerful to the last, 
With calm contentment they review the past. 

Are such men Idlers ? Idlers we are all ; 
The merits of the active are but small. 
Yet they are useful too, and happier far 
Than those who through the day wage wordy war, 
Then dine, just reeking from the crowded court, 
On tough beefsteaks, cold soup, and tavern port. 
Can the poor head contain what it is now 
Expedient for a Gentleman to know ? 
Though through the circle of the arts we run, 
(Thanks to Reviews) we can remember none. 
The Lawyer throws aside his book, ami burns 
To be a Davy and a Smith by turns ; 
His clients suffer, yet where'er he dines, 
Chemist, or Bard, the learned Proteus shines. 



8 FIRST EPISTLE 

Society improves ; the times require 
Some little knowledge in a country squire ; 
And book clubs, through the country widely spread, 
Shew that at least our modern works are read. 
The most inveterate sportsman now may speak 
French and Italian, nay, can construe Greek. 
A fire-side voyager from shore to shore, 
He loves not in his easy chair to snore, 

All can talk politics, no matter how : 

The witty and the dull, the high and low. 

But few, (which is the test of taste,) can quote 

Aptly a line, or tell an anecdote. 

Few can converse, with unaffected ease, 

Or like a Ward, or like a Canning please. 

Our country neighbours something more can say 
Than " Row dye do ?" and " Tis a lovely day ;" 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 

I 've heard from them what in reputed wits 
Would be considered very pretty hits. 
A bel esprit in France, and Britain 's known, 
But England calls the humorous man her own ; 
Yet " masters of the joke," who have a name, 
Often say things unworthy of their fame. 

No dun's loud voice, nor newsman's louder horn, 
Here scare you from your slumbers light at morn : 
No loungers here at one, assail your door. 
To kill their time by wasting your's till four : 
To them 'tis all the same what themes engage 
Their minds, a death perchance, or equipage. 
'Tis hard to say who greater ills endure, 
The listless rich, or the o'erlabouring poor. 
Indolence sits a night-mare on the breast; 
Through the whole day her victims cannot rest. 
Since man was never born to live alone, 
How can he be that wretched thing — a drone ! 



10 FIRST EPISTLE 

A country-life is tame ! Who says 'tis so ? 
The muck-worm cit, or butterfly-like beau ; 
Or some fair Exquisite whose mind is fraught 
With maxims by the Queen of Fashion taught ? 
" Would you be fashionable, you must weed 
Your company, my dear, you must indeed. 
Those who give balls ask first Exclusives ; then 
As you would choose your pinks select your men. 
Let not a swarm of country-folks appear 
To greet you with a cordial welcome, dear ; 
Such you must cut at once. — It is not worth, 
Nor wit, nor talent, no nor even birth 
That gives the ton ; 'tis something you will find 
At Almack's — 'tis — it cannot be defined. 
Remember you may always turn aside 
As if by accident, and not through pride, 
When those approach you whom you should not know, 
Or be short-sighted, or at least seem so. 
Let none but titled names your parties boast, 
ook divinely in the Morning Post. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 11 

Though Dowagers may old and ugly be, 

They blaze in diamonds, are of high degree ; 

Though noble Dandies look like gay baboons, 

Their stars shine lustrous through our grand saloons : 

How sweet it is to listen to the prate 

Of some young lordling, pillar of the state ! 

Who, quite the fashion, to a favour'd few 

Speaks, then be thankful if he talks to you." 

You laugh at this would-be satiric strain ; 

Well then I '11 read my Blackstone o'er again, 

And talk about a " fine," or a " release," 

And dare to be a Justice of the Peace. 

Yet, my good friend, though nothing has a sale 

But a high novel, or a bravo's tale, 

Or memoirs, written by some scribbling thing, 

That bites a bard, as gnats a lion sting — 

I 've dared to write ; no moralist will curse, 

Though few, perchance, can praise this sober verse. 

While well-fed Codrus dedicates his rhymes 

To his kind patron, shall we blame the times ? 



12 FIRST EPISTLE 

How generous that Maecenas is, who gives 
His gold, and lauded in a preface lives ! 
Some with subscriptions love to make a show ; 
Tis right the world their charities should know ; 
Their spring of action 's selfishness; what then? 
Their names, perchance, may influence other men. 
Better write songs, or simper at a ball. 
Than like a youthful Timon lose your all. 

Some care not how they trifle life away ; 

A hero wept if he but lost a day ! 

The ruin'd master of a vast estate 

Finds he had time for hazard when too late. 

What then is wealth, if boundless be our wants ? 

How few can well employ what fortune grants ! 

One buys a borough, and corrupts the poor ; 

Another opes to every knave his door. 

If there be virtues in this world, they thrive 

Far from those open halls where lordlings live. 

Enslaved to thousands, while he seems their god, 

The generous fool for self prepares the rod. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 13 

All lash him — why? because he fondly deem'd 
That they, vain boasters ! were the men they seem'd. 

Cethegus shines alike with talents rare, 
Or in St. Giles's, or in Grosvenor-square : ( a ) 
So versatile in all things, he must please, 
Who thus to pleasure sacrifices ease. 

Lucullus to a boor, within the week, 
Sells gems, and goblets of the true antique. 
Who then would be Lucullus, thus to lose 
All that a polish! d taste taught him to choose ? 

Is Gracchus happy, as around him throng 
The rabble, who applaud him right or wrong ? 
No : when the conquest is so mean, indeed, 
He feels no triumph, where he must succeed. 
Great wits and statesmen grace Moreri's page ; 
Who else records these wonders of their age ! 
Since fame is so uncertain, shall we say 
That splendid follies live beyond their day ? 



14 FIRST EPISTLE 

Each has the beau ideal in his mind 
Of pleasure ; that is coarse, this more refined : 
Talk not to me, says Florio, of delights 
The country has ; give me the view from White's. 
What is more lovely on a summer's day 
Than charms which beauteous women then display ? 
Dearer to many is the gay saloon 
At Covent Garden, than the full-orb'd moon. 
These, as they view the immortal lights on high, 
For Vauxhall's artificial splendours sigh. 
So strange is taste, that some do not disdain 
To breathe the wholesome air of Maiden-lane, ( b ) 
Where, by the smoking conclave, they are prized, 
And sometimes pass for characters disguised. 

At clubs and auctions Florio may contrive 
Through a wet day, by rising late, to live ; 
Give him at night but turtle and champagne, 
He might exist through the same day again. 
Life must indeed to such strange beings seem, 
Or a fool's Paradise, or drunkard's dream : 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 15 

The spirits o'er-excited, soon will fail, 

Then all is dull, unprofitable, stale ; 

Nor Ude's best fare, ( c ) nor wines, though very choice. 

Nor social songs, can make the heart rejoice. 

Poor Foppington ! but yesterday the pride 

Of ball-rooms, is by fashion thrown aside. 

Another is adored, why, none can tell : 

Yet must another be forgot as well. 

This is indeed the common lot of all 

Whom vain ambition prompts to ride the ball, 

Wharton, a great Corinthian in his day, 

(Pope gives his character) was somewhat gay. 

Loved to see life, ambitious of a name : 

Compared with his e'en Egcms sports are tame. ( d ) 

'Tis pity that such revellers should die, 

They are so useful to society. 

Most glorious is the spring-time of the year 
How freshly green the woods, the vales appear ! 



16 FIRST EPISTLE. 

" Flowers of all hue" the splendid meads adorn ; 
With blossoms white, how fragrant is the thorn ! 
And Heaven gives glimpses of itself by land, 
By sea, fine fragments show the master-hand. 
When Nature 's clothed in such a varied dress, 
Shall man presume to scorn her loveliness ? 
Slight the rich banquet that she bids him taste, 
And fortune's gifts in chase of follies waste ? 
The circle of enjoyment comprehends 
Wife, children, books, a few warm-hearted friends 
Man may with these contented be, and spurn 
Those nothings, after which his neighbours yearn. 



SECOND EPISTLE 



TO 



A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



I account a person who has a moderate mind and fortune, and lives in 
the conversation of two or three agreeable friends, with little commerce in 
the world besides ; who is esteemed well enough by his few neighbours that 
know him, and is truly irreproachable by any body ; and so, after a health- 
ful quiet life, before the great inconveniences of old age, goes silently out of 
it ; this innocent deceiver of the world, as Horace calls him, this " muta 
persona/* I take to have been more happy in his part, than the greatest 
actors that fill the stage with show and noise ; nay, even "than Augustus 
himself, who asked, with his last breath, whether he had not played his 
farce very well. — Cowley. 



TO THE SAME. 



Shall I, while serious duties must engage 
My mind, write on in this most rhyming age ? 
Wilt thou, with clients crowding at thy door, 
Consent to be poetical, and poor ? 
Yet let me snatch, my friend, one hour away 
From fashion's vain impertinence to-day, 
From the dull forms of business, and its cares, 
That close around me like the fowler's snares — 
And I '11 ne'er trifle with the Muse again : 
Read but these plain lines from an honest pen. 

Some men there are, thank Heaven but very few, 
Who will condemn whate'er you say or do ; 

c 2 



20 SECOND EPISTLE 

They, with ingenious malice, draw forth evil 
From sermons I such are children of the devil ! 
One writes a song ; should it appear in print, 
The generous Bavius says, " there 's danger in V 
Another cheers an else heart-broken bard ; 
" Let the vain fool his parasite reward," 
Kind Zoilus exclaims ; Who then escapes ? 
None, when foul Envy thus her comment shapes. 

Yet will my mind fly backwards to the time 

When, great indeed my fault, I learn'd to rhyme : 

"When every day gave birth to schemes, that soon 

Pass'd rapidly away, like dreams at noon ; 

To plans, that might have suited fairyland, 

But fleeting here, as figures drawn in sand ! 

How often have we studied Gibbon's page ! 

How often glow'd with Burke ; prophetic sage ! 

Those intellectual giants, such in truth 

They were, with splendid periods charm'd our youth. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 21 

Oft have we sought the theatre ; and felt 
That then, embodied there, Rome's genius dwelt, 
When Kemble, like the god-like hero, shone ( a ) 
Among inferior lights, a sun alone ! 
Adored by thousands, such his happy lot — 
He was but yesterday ; and now — forgot ! 
Thus as old Time turns round his wheel, uprise, 
And fast descend, the mighty and the wise ! 
A few eulogiums in the journals tell 
How wise they were, how mighty, then — farewell ! 

He whom variety delights, would find 

All that must please him in Statira's mind ! 

Where various qualities are sweetly blent, 

Candour with cunning, sense with sentiment. 

Look in her face, a devil lurketh there, 

That in her eye-glance seems to say — " Beware I" 

How often have we prattled round her board, 

With would-be Authors, and a gentle Lord ! 



22 SECOND EPISTLE 

Great was her love of patronage and state ; 
We praised her talents, and her show of plate. 

But times are alter' d : in this world of woe 

Realities demand exertion now. 

We are not what we were ; that burning zeal 

For books, and pleasures, we no longer feel : 

Fancy has now withdrawn her high-wrought veil 

From our fond gaze, and sober thoughts prevail ; 

And what has pleased in boyhood now appears 

Vain, as comes on the noon-time of our years. 

All was romantic, if it be romance, 

To float upon the changing stream of chance. 

Let Cocker's useful volume supersede 
The metaphysic tomes of Stewart or Reid. 
But 'tis indeed a pain, (though Interest seems 
To bid me scorn unprofitable themes,) 
While the old bards adorn my shelves, to quit 
At once their world of poetry and wit ! ( b ) 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 23 

Where the dense yellow fog o'erhangs the Thames, 
The sage ? great Coke, thy close attention claims ; 
Yet wilt thou seize, at intervals of time, 
On Byron's Lara— Cowper's Task sublime ! 
The mind is healthy, that to works like these, 
Amid the toil of thought, can turn with ease. 

Content, thou hast eight hundred pounds a-year, 
Books, and, far better still, a conscience clear ; 
Thou dost not feel, what squires have felt, distress, 
When their rents fail, and mortgages oppress ! 
Debts, taxes, and annuities might make 
The proudest landlord for his acres quake ! 

Like Machiavel in politics, thou art ( c ) 

A Tory, or a Radical at heart ! 

Rejoicing oft to see how Whigs are hit 

Now by John Bull's, and now by Cobbett's wit. 

Yet politics are but ephemeral things ; ( d ) 

Kings, though the world's progressive, will be kings : 



24 SECOND EPISTLE 

Statesmen are statesmen still — the mob will roar, ( e ) 
And be what Wilkes has been before ! 

Say, dost thou seek the Caledonian squeeze, 
Where few can stand, and fewer sit with ease ? 
Where Irving's glowing oratory shows 
The skeleton at least of Taylor's prose ! ( f ) 
Or, blest with better taste, wilt thou not hear 
Andrews, as eloquent, and far more clear ? 
Then, at a brother lawyer's country seat, 
In social converse find a sabbath treat ? 

As magic lanthorns throw along the wall 

Forms of gigantic shape, yet shadows all, 

In florid self-importance thus the vain 

Burst on our sight — then shrink to nought again. 

Their well-known faces haunt me where I walk, 

And oh ! how wearisome their well-known talk ! 

Yet such are men ; though reason, 'tis confest, 
Illumes their minds with scatter'd rays at best : 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 25 

Such have immortal spirits I which must be 
Happy, or wretched, through eternity ! 
Go, triflers, tread Love's flowery path ; but know 
Ye burn with daemons, or with seraphs glow ! 

Oft have we laugh'd at (for in truth we 've seen 
The world) their civil smiles that nothing mean ; 
Their dolorous looks, whene'er they seem'd to grieve ; 
And can such poor dissemblers e'er deceive ? 
Give me the man, who, if at times he err, 
At least shows something like a character ! 
Who can consult his heart, as well as head ; 
Nor waits to ask if feeling be well bred ! 

Some have the wealth of Ind, are strange, are proud, 
And scorn to hold communion with the crowd. 
But fortune frowns ; the smiling auctioneer 
Bids gold and pearls barbaric disappear. 
Philips will sell their books, where underwrit 
Notes tersely pencill'd show sententious wit. ( s ) 



26 SECOND EPISTLE 

Philips will sell their gewgaws, that amaze ( h ) 
Women and rustics with their gorgeous blaze. 
But such superfluous vanities can ne'er 
Delight thy mind, be they or rich, or rare. 

Soon, very soon, life's little day is past ; 
No works, but those of charity, will last. 
Nor Byron's verse, nor Beckford's pomp can save 
Vathek, or Harold, from their destined grave ! 
And what is wealth ? with equal hand 'tis given 
To bad, to good — no proof of favouring Heaven ! 
And who is rich ? Erailius, whose good sense 
Protects him from the glare of vain expense. 
Who buys not glittering toys when very dear, (*) 
But treats his friends with hospitable cheer — 
Who loves to breathe the incense of the morn, ( k ) 
As the sun's golden rays his hills adorn ; 
Deeming more beautiful the sky's young bloom, 
Than all the splendours of a drawing-room — 
And meditates, as warmly glows his blood, 
How best he might promote his country's good. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 27 

He can be happy though his neighbours thrive ; 
Nor thinks himself the poorest man alive. 
But few are like Emilius, few can feel 
For aught, save their own sordid selves, a zeal. 

Trebatius like a man of honour deals ; 
He only keeps your purse, he never steals. 
His honour is so clear, you must not doubt it ; 
" He talks about it, Goddess, and about it." 
Wearied with mystery, and sick of prate, 
(Yet unconvinced) you trust the man you hate. 

Simplicity is like a flowery wreath, 
Though beautiful, a serpent lurks beneath ! 
Good Simon Pure in look, in voice a child, 
Will circumvent a Jew — though very mild. 

Burke says ambition is too bold a vice ( ] ) 
For many ; true : not so with avarice. 
The meanest passion has the strongest hold 
On human hearts, the cursed lust of gold. 



28 SECOND EPISTLE 

You judge, if rightly read in Nature's book, 
Of beasts, by what in men deceive, the look : 
The fox's craft, the slyness of a cat, 
Are outwardly express'd by this and that. 

Crispus with studied negligence will speak ; ( m ) 

Yet knows right well his neighbour's side that 's weak ; 

And while his words are out at random thrown, 

Notes yours upon his memoes tablet down. 

The most experienced oft will fail to trace 

The lines of cunning in his ruddy face : 

Yet, watch it narrowly, you see the smile 

Betrays, what laughter may conceal, his guile. 

Lives there the man who does not condescend 

To notice, if he be distress'd, a friend ? 

Such man within the Town perchance may dwell, 

(More fit to be a denizen of Hell,) 

But in the Country may not shew his face ; 

Our lands are cursed not with so vile a race. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 29 

Experience, sole correctress of the young 
Who to reeds shaken by the wind have clung — 
False hopes, false friends, false pleasures — 'tis by 

thee, 
Our souls are arm'd against duplicity. 

Give him one year, the youth by passion fired, 
May lose whate'er his father has acquired ! 
Whate'er he gain'd by forethought, or by toil, 
May in one night become the sharper's spoil. 

Why does Eugenio love to live by rule ? 
He aims to be the first in Jackson's school ; 
Yet like himself, perchance, Eugenio's sire 
Liked a beefsteak that just had see?i the fire ! 
'Twas love of exercise — 'tis love of fame, 
Their ends were varied, but their means the same. 

Sick of amusements that come o'er and o'er, 
The chace, the dance, the drama, and the moor, 



30 SECOND EPISTLE 

Hilario quits fair England, restless still. 
He follows pleasure's shade, and ever will ; 
Till to some " high-viced" city drawing close, 
It leaves him idle, but without repose. 

Hilario stakes his goods, among the rest 
A ring — it was a dying friend's bequest ! 
This dear memorial of a dying friend 
Adorns a strumpet's finger in the end. 

Lucilius courts the great ; he *d rather be 
Their slave, than live among his equals free. 
Yet will he notice these, whene'er they meet 
Elsewhere, than in a fashionable street. 
Yet some there are who scorn, how very odd, 
This lordling's humble servant's friendly nod. 

Vain, demi-deified by flattering self, 

Young Claudius cries — " All women want my pelf!' 

Some, dazzled with exterior show, adore 

The golden calf, like wayward Jews of yore. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 31 

Yet is the fool so fine — he dares to scorn 
The highly-gifted, beautiful, high-born ! 
Till from his fancied eminence he 's hurl'd 
By lawless love — a by- word in the world ! 
Or to a wanton, or another's wife 
Wedded, for ever with his spouse at strife. 

Extreme in every thing, Petronius pants 
To be a chosen one, and humbly cants ! 
What are humility and cant allied ? 
Humility is virtue, cant is pride ! 
The words of dying Addison, " Be good," 
Though easy, are by few well understood. 

Florus, whose wit may grace to-morrow's feast, 
Is low to-day ; the wind is in the East. 
Or deems he that at thirty though he sing 
And jest, a jester 's but a trifling thing ? 

The mind " that 's sicklied o'er with the pale cast 
Of thought," intensely ponders o'er the past ! 



32 SECOND EPISTLE 

Each act, however fair in youth's gay prime, 
Changes its hues, and darkens into crime. 
Each lighter jest, in strong remembrance set, 
Adds something to the stores of vain regret. 

E'en Atticus, whose mind is blest with taste, 

Lets, when alone, his talents run to waste. 

The standard of his taste is high indeed ; 

Few are the books he condescends to read ! 

He bears with Dryden's prose, or Campbell's verse. 

Such delicate feeling almost is a curse. 

What is thy boasted knowledge, man of thought ? 
What are thy fancy's meteor-flashes ? — nought — 
If but a passing cloud that glooms the sky 
Can stupify thy brain, or dull thine eye. 
Slave to the breeze, the sunshine, and the shower, 
Thou art in sooth a transitory flower ! 

There 's Heaven in mere existence ; then ag;am 
If clouds be lowering, fortune smiles in vain : 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 33 

The dull cold morn which doubtful lights illume, 
Casts o'er the mind its harmonizing gloom. 

" Poor human Nature !" bending over Pope, 

His friend exclaim'd — but where was St. John's hope ? 

He saw the poet ghastly, weak, and thin ! 

But saw not the immortal soul within ! 

The soul, that like an eagle soars among 

The bright existences, the souls of song ; 

They, with intuitive glance, at once see through 

Worlds, which on earth we vainly strive to view. 

On the rough ocean of existence tost, 
Here contemplation is in action lost. 
Had we but time to speculate, how strange 
Would all appear within the mind's wide range ; 
Ourselves — our nature — what th' Almighty power 
Wills us to be — when past death's awful hour ! 
Our thoughts are vague when they attempt to pass 
Beyond the boundaries of is and vjcls. 



34 SECOND EPISTLE 

How .very small must seem, whene'er we think, 
In being's endless chain this earthly link ! 

To-day, and yesterday ! these words imply 

Life has its constant labours, 'till we die. 

Then may our souls, upspringing from the dust, 

Live with the spirits of the good and just ! 

Is there a spot of sunshine to be found 

In life's dark valley ? yes — 'tis holy ground ! 

'Tis where Religion sheds a sober beam, 

As fell on Gideon's fleece the blessed stream ! 

" Bask in the sun of pleasure while you can ; 

Life's summer soon is fled: then what is man !" 

Unapt illusion ! as our years increase, 

The mind gains strength, the storms of passion cease ! 

The informing spirit then, that never dies, 

Gives promise of those godlike energies 

That it will exercise without decay, 

In other worlds, when this shall pass away. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 35 

Let us then fondly hope that they, whose worth 
Rivafl'd the virtues of the best on earth, 
They, in whose hearts angels rejoiced to find 
The fear of God, the love of all mankind, 
They whom we loved, for whom, alas ! we shed 
The fruitless tear, since they to us are dead, 
Will live for ever with us in the sight 
Of that immortal One who dwells in light, 
Throned inaccessible ; we learn to brave, 
Arm'd with this hope, the terrors of the grave. 



d2 



THIRD EPISTLE 



TO 



A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



This is a beautiful life now ! Privacy, 

The sweetness and the benefit of essence. 

I see there 's no man but may make his paradise ; 

And it is nothing but his love and dotage 

Upon the world's foul joye, that keeps him out on't. 

Fletcher's Xice Valour, 

Act v. Scene 2. 



TO THE SAME, 



This day, that shone most glorious from its birth, 
Is like a glimpse of Heaven as caught from earth. 
Here oft in silence have we loved to gaze 
On sylvan wonders, far above our praise. 
Our thoughts are fresh, as is the early dew 
In our life's morn ; oh ! were they always new, 
Earth would be Paradise ; but soon they lose 
Their freshness, and grow stale by frequent use. 
Those varied fancies, that when we are young 
Please us, remain through want of art unsung ; 
When Art might teach us duly to express 
Their charms, alas ! we feel and know them less. 



40 THIRD EPISTLE 

The noblest landscape that e'er bless'd the sight, 
Day after day beheld, scarce gives delight. 
That, which we now mis-name a trifling toy, 
Once kindled in our hearts a flame of joy ! 
As the sky's brilliant hues at close of day 
Melt down into an undistinguish'd grey — 
Thus the changed mind (its lively colours past) 
Wears the dull livery of the world at last. 

E'en Pamphilus, in whose young bosom dwelt 
A love of all that 's beautiful, who felt 
That Nature, ever present, where he roved, 
Clung closely to his heart, a Nymph beloved ; 
Now views, unheeding, emerald vales and floods 
And, in repose magnificent, the woods. 

Yet better this, than an o'eracted zeal 
For rural beauties, which you do not feel. 
Urbanus is in raptures, when he sees, 
Since rudeness is a crime, his Patron's trees ; 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 41 

Urbanus deems not what he sees, divine ; 
But 'tis polite to shout at times " How fine !" 
This feign'd enthusiast with his words may cheat 
The vain possessor of a country seat ! 
But has Urbanus view'd the clouds that flush 
Around a summer's sky, the morning's blush ; 
And felt, when quite alone, the deep, deep sense 
Of beauty inexpress'd, not less intense, 
When all sensations of delight are thrown 
Into a heavenward gratitude alone ? 

Pleasures like this are passionless, and give 

A lesson to us for what ends we live. 

They show the soul's high origin, though worn 

By care, and oh ! predict that glorious morn, 

When life, and light, and love, the trinal beam, ( a ) 

Shall flow upon the good in endless stream. 

A lute, a gentle voice, or summer skies, 
All in their turn wake kindred sympathies ; 



42 THIRD EPISTLE 

Though few, like Sylvius, love to waste their hours 

Courting romantic thoughts in tangled bowers, 

'Till loathing social duties he misdeems 

Himself a spirit in a world of dreams, — 

Yet will meek evening to the coldest heart 

A sober glow of happiness impart ; 

Sweet promise this, of pleasures yet to come ; 

Showing that earth is not our proper home. 

This nature teaches to that being call' d 

" Man of the world," or man by art enthrall'd, 

With the thin gloss of fashion smoothing o'er 

His real character, like thousands more ! 

So mild, his manners are to all the same ; 

Stranger or Friend alike, attention claim* 

Now Flavius lingers in the town alone ; 
The pride and pomp of which, alas, are gone. 
The mean young man will condescend to seek 
A rural Bashaw's seat ; but for a week : 
Th' indignant Landlord scorns, as well he might, 
The proffer'd honour, as he scorn'd the slight 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 43 

Which Flavius show'd him, when, among the crowd 

Of worldlings, walk'd the coxcomb poor and proud. 

All pride is littleness — but very low 

The pride which unpaid tailors can bestow I 

The bigot for his narrow creed may have 

Some reason, but a fool is fashion's slave, 

Who, for a name's equivocal renown, 

Would the best feelings of the heart disown. 

Let brother trhiers damn him as half-bred, 

The charms of this much-boasted name are fled : 

A word from fashion's high-priest, — sacred thing, 

Will clip at once the young aspirant's wing. 

Unhappy youth ! whom fortune thus beguiles ; 

The lovely Peeress passes by, nor smiles. 

The title " Exquisite" acquired with pain, 

Like that of " Champion," is a doubtful gain. 

The youth whose heart, replete with kindness, loved 
The world, whose generous acts that world approved ; 
When all was new, and fancy gave a gloss 
To life's realities that are but dross — 



44 THIRD EPISTLE 

In manhood, should his sanguine hopes be crost, 
Is chill'd by apathy's unyielding frost ; 
Save when arise some sudden gusts of spleen, 
You scarce would guess that he had active been. 

Dreary will be life's eve to Sporus soon, 

The black cloud of contempt o'erhangs his noon. 

One moment's gaze on such a scene as this, 

Is worth whole years of artificial bliss. 

When the sun gilds with his declining rays 

The castle, fam'd in great Eliza's days, 

I love to linger near its ruin'd walls, 

Where ivy clusters, or luxuriant falls : 

Then in my mind are suddenly revived ( b ) 

The days, when Sidney, " flower of knighthood," lived. 

That stainless hero ! a propitious star 

In peace ; a splendid meteor in the war. 

Th' unwearied light of valour on his crest 

Shone, while in royal halls he look'd the best 






TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 43 

Such noble spirits to a higher sphere 
Belong, and, ere we know them, disappear ! 
Now the calm sunset gives a mellow grace 
To the vast pile ; what pleasure 'tis to trace 
The shadows of past greatness ! not a sound 
Is heard, while twilight gently steals around. 
Here time appears resistless ; but my soul 
Says that one Power can time itself controul : 
The Power that hath reveal' d, the promise sure, 
That now, one boundless present, shall endure. ( c ) 

But what are works upraised by human skill ? 

Mere toys, Pride's splendid playthings, if you will. — 

Nature, more prodigal, has always been 

Most lavish of her treasures, where unseen. 

She, in vast solitudes delights to show 

That without man's vain aid her nurslings grow 

A Giant brood ; for there mimosas rise, 

And the columnar cactus towers unto the skies ; ( d ) 

There vallies look like worlds, o'er which the vast 

Forests their shades interminably cast ! 



46 THIRD EPISTLE 

Where all is great, shall not man's heart expand, 
Enlarging with the grandeur of the land ? 
There as the mind upsprings, from custom freed 
It scorns the courtier's fashionable creed, 
Knowing itself how mean, in Pride's abode, 
How comprehensive, 'mong the works of God. 
The worst and best of passions there, the lust 
Of wealth, the love of glory give disgust, 
And thought illimitable there would fain 
The wisdom of earth's wisest sons disdain. 

Eumolpus, child of Genius he, was made 
To live in the sun, and yet, would seek the shade ! 
Thou dost remember well his fine dark eye, 
Where shone enthroned the soul of Poesy ; 
His voice that, silver-toned, fit channel seem'd 
For flow of wit with which his fancy teem'd ; 
His eloquent discourse now light, now full 
Of thoughts profound and rare, but never dull. 
Spite of these brilliant qualities that warm 
The heart, and give to social life a charm, — 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 47 

This gifted being, to the haunts of men ( e ) 
Preferr'd the mountain's height, or lonely glen. 
But Psittacus the bard, aspires to move 
Among the rich and great, to court their love. 
He labours every day to feel the effect 
Of writing well, and trembles at neglect. 
One might his highly-polish'd wit compare ( f ) 
To the snow-diamond beautiful and rare : 
He knows indeed its worth ; for every word 
He asks the homage of the social board. 
And while his sayings sparkle, Fame forbid 
Their light should be beneath a bushel hid. 
But though his Muse, in verse a very saint, 
The beauties of a rural life can paint ; 
She ne'er with Nature's self communion held, 
But felt that Power her energies had quell'd ! 

How few, while with their fellow-men they mix, 
Write what they may, on Heaven their thoughts will fix ! 
Affections, small, but strong in union, bind 
With many threads to earth the giant mind : 



48 THIRD EPISTLE 

Care clouds its sight ; wild passions then assail 
The soul, and 'gainst its nobler will prevail : 
And while man strays through Pleasure's flowery path, 
Bursts on his head the vial of God's wrath ! 

Yet praise is dear to all — the world's, alas, ( g ) 
(As wet and dry affect the weather-glass) 
Or given or withheld can raise or sink 
The spirits, 'tis for that we act and think. 
For that young Drusus, falling from his rank, 
Into a wandering, would-be Roscius sank ; 
For that Patricius would, a fruitless toil, 
Enrich with German flowers his English soil ; 
E'en from his loved retreat the rural Bard 
Seeks in the world's approval his reward. 
Where's the Recluse who, though it loudly strikes 
His ear, the grateful voice of fame dislikes ? 
Thus rise from Rousseau's genius that illumes 
The shrine of Nature, vanity's rank fumes. 
The worshippers of glory? though sublime 
Their maxims, are but great in prose and rhyme. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 49 

So weak is man, that when upraised at most. 
The mind a partial flight can only boast : 
Soon with a flagging wing 'twill stoop, and creep 
Along the ground — Hear this, ye vain, and weep ! 

Antimachus (since such a name the muse ( h ) 
Reluctant for the wayward youth must choose) 
Writes like an angel, but his actions stain 
The else unsullied offspring of his brain. 
He seems in contrarieties to take 
Delight, at once Philosopher and Rake. 
What Casuist dares affirm 'twixt good and bad 
That aught like compromise can e'er be had, 
Though many characters, so wills it strife, 
Preserve no keeping on the stage of life ? 
The sentimentalist to-day will quaff 
Bumpers of wine, to-morrow jest and laugh. 
Morecraft the usurer will e'en unbend, 
And give a dinner to his pigeon'd Friend. 
Mind has its lights and shadows, that to please, 
Into each other melt by slow degrees : 



50 THIRD EPISTLE 

But with alternate colours dark and bright, (*) 
The glaring contrast shocks the moral sight. 
Strange inconsistencies will show that all 
The wisest feel the curse of Adam's fall. 

Good God ! Marcellus by the gay and grave 

Approved, became the vilest passion's slave ; 

Pure were his thoughts in boyhood, modest sense 

Adorn'd a mind that hated all pretence. 

Poor fallen youth, how changed ! thou lately wast 

Thy country's pride ; but now — the world's outcast. 

Oh may swift vengeance hurl its lightnings down 

On their base heads by whom this youth's o'erthrown! 

Pass we this theme — the subject will involve 

A knotty question which no Bard can solve : 

Why should this man, since Virtue "with his growth 

Grew," be at once the worthless thing we loath ? 

Bad spirits ever vigilant will glide 

Into the heart's recess, and there abide ; 

Expelling the fair forms of Love and Truth, 

Though beautiful, but transient guests in sooth. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 51 

Alciphron opens Nature's Book, and reads 

That there's a God, as visible in weeds 

As worlds ; and yet the sceptic is perplex'd ; 

With "qualities," and "modes," and "substance," vex'd. 

Words vague in meaning chill his holy zeal, 

And counteract what he must see and feel. 

Is he in danger? then he will adore 

God, and forget the quibbling sophist's lore. 

Conscience will dissipate the mists that cloud 

Thoughts, very weak indeed, when very proud. 

Thus the presumptuous intellect of man 

Passes its bounds, but ends where it began. 

While Heaven pours forth varieties of light 
In beautiful profusion ; what delight 
It is to view the woodlands, lawns between : 
Brief joy perchance ! soon clouds may supervene, 
Deepening their shadows o'er the woods that now 
With an intensity of radiance glow. 

e2 



52 THIRD EPISTLE. 

That Joy is like a moment's sunshine, gone 
Ere you can feel it, we have often known : 
But Friendship is a plant that will outlast 
The gusts of care, or Sorrow's wintry blast. 
Then may'st thou see, my Friend, a good old age ; 
Happy as Demon ax, and quite as sage. ( k ) 
And when her mild farewell to life is given, 
May Angel Faith direct thy soul to Heaven t 



FOURTH EPISTLE 



TO 



A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



May it please your Lordship to withdraw yourself 

Unto this neighbouring grove, there shall you hear 

How the sweet treble of the chirping birds, 

And the soft stirring of the moved leaves, 

Running delightful descant to the sound 

Of the base murmuring of the bubbling brook, 

Become a concert of good instruments: 

While twenty babbling echoes round about 

Out of the stony concave of their mouths 

Restore the vanish'd music of each close, 

And nil your ears full with redoubled pleasure. 

Lingua.— Old Play. 



TO THE SAME, 



The golden morn of youth is gone, and man 
Reaches his noon of life without a plan : 
As snow falls softly on the mountains height, 
Time passes by : 'tis scarcely eve, 'tis night : 
Though whispers oft the still small voice within, 
To waste, or misapply thy time, is sin. 

Yet it is pleasant here to gaze away 

In sweet forgetfulness of cares the day, 

The long long summer's day ; while flowers exhale 

Their fragrance borne along the western gale, 



56 FOURTH EPISTLE 

That o'er our Avon's bosom gently breathes, 

Till in the sun her " crisped smiles" she wreathes ; ( a ) 

Or glory in that sun, till thought elate 

Would o'er the horizon round its orb dilate ; 

Or trace resemblance to that monarch proud 

Of xllps, Mont Blanc, in some high-towering cloud ; 

Or wander lonely through the solemn grove 

With every feeling hush'd, save that of love, 

Love of a Being who is evermore 

All that a grateful spirit must adore ! 

As clouds along the stream in varied hues 

Their lovely shadows rapidly diffuse ; 

So o'er life's current changeful Fancy glides, 

In shapes swift-flitting o'er the restless tides. 

All the fine plans thy subtle mind hath spun 
Melt into air, like mists before the sun ; 
Yet why regret? substantial systems wrought 
By heads of statesmen crumble into nought. 
The wings of time, through oft repeated shocks, 
Beat down opinions strong as granite rocks ; 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 57 

Senates have sanction'd schemes they now deride ; 
How mortifying this to human pride ! 

Bacon has said, then take it in my rhyme, 

The slaves of custom are the sport of time ; 

How, as they strive to check his onward course, 

He whirls them round with a resistless force ! 

While knowledge, strong as is the ocean's tide, 

Scatters opposing errors far and wide : 

Sweeping away the veil that time has thrown 

O'er old opinions all must soon disown. 

Though knowledge be progressive, mystery shrouds 

The glowing sons of fancy in her clouds, 

So brilliant they divert aspiring youth 

From following sober lights hung out by truth. 

But ah ! from them involved within the mass 

Too soon away the brilliant colours pass. 

Mystical poetry with wondrous art 
Entwines itself around the enthusiast's heart. 



58 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Alastor gathers images remote 
From human use, as stimulants to thought. 
With projects wild his brain distemper'd teems, 
His world appears impalpable as dreams. 
Vague phantoms take the place of living forms, 
And torturing doubt a noble mind deforms. 
How can a soul which matter clogs, discern 
Abstraction's shadowy tribe ? their nature learn ? 
Awhile they rush before our mental sight 
Enlarged, then far recede, and all is night ! 
We shape our projects from a chaos wild 
Of dreams that ought not to delude a child ; 
Then, as our air-built phantasies deceive 
Hopes that are nursed in spite of reason — grieve. 

In one brief day, thoughts rapidly succeed 
Each other, varying as we act or read : 
As mutable as Claudia's love that veers 
From heirs for wealth plebeian fam'd, to Peers ; 
Or those opinions, that in proper reason 
Conviction brings against our staggering reason ; 






TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 59 

Conviction, as self-interest rules the hour, 
Has opportunely a resistless power. 

What are the secret links, uniting thought 
With thought ? here metaphysics teach us nought ; 
The mind, but lately pleased with idle things, 
Is teeming now with vast imaginings ; 
(Not that of Quintus which, except the news 
That clubs can give, no subject can amuse.) 
The voice, but lately bland, in fearful tone, 
Now bids the oppressor tremble on his throne ; 
And hearts indignant with responsive beat 
Throb, and impatient crowds their shouts repeat. 
Thus a great actor has upon the stage 
Alternate fits of tenderness and rage ; 
Who a few minutes since among his guests 
Threw rapidly his laughter-moving jests. 

Imagination is to mortals given, 

That they might sometimes catch a glimpse of heaven, 



60 FOURTH EPISTLE 

But not to be an erring guide, at strife 
With all the sober principles of life : 
To cheat us. as a Prospero with his wand 
Creates and then dissolves a fairy band. 
Yet what are all the pleasures as we pass 
Through life, that cheer our pilgrimage, alas ! 

Beauty attracts us with her smiles, and Love 
Is a most busy god while idlers move, 
Thronging those gardens gay of which the flowers 
Transcend the choicest that adorn our bowers ; 
There glow in summer's lighter garb array' d 
The loveliest forms that ever Nature made ; 
The roseate bloom of youth is on their cheeks : 
In their sweet looks mind eloquently speaks. 
(Yet taste laments that Tullia's shape is gone ; 
Among her fair compeers she brightly shone.) 
Eyes that with tears were fill'd but yesternight 
For a lost Almack's, sparkle with delight. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 61 

Come thou, enchantress Music, with thy strains 

Alternate wake delight, or calm our pains : 

Thou canst attune the heart to every change 

Of feeling as thy fancy loves to range : 

Thou art mysterious Harmony by Heaven 

To man, a solace for his sorrows given. 

The Hermit dreams of music in his cell, 

Of voices heard in Heaven the choral swell : 

The Pilgrim hears the vesper bell at close 

Of day, and nears the city of repose, 

Cheerful yet pensive ; while the minstrels come 

With merry sounds, to cheer the Burgher's home. 

Now rouse the warrior's souls ; now in the lute 

With thy fine touch the lover's ear salute. 

A ballet at the Opera, it seems, ( b ) 

Is what a poet fancies when he dreams : 

Oh what a world of poesy is there ! 

What delicate spirits people earth and air ! 

Angels of light, too fine for Man's embrace — 

They are, if Angels, then a fallen race. 



62 FOURTH EPISTLE 

What are these beings of ethereal mould 
By whom the " Muses' tales are truly told?" 
Young Claudius knows, whose heart such beauty warms, 
That these all-glorious sprites have venal charms. 

But Freedom here can show a nobler prize 
Than loveliest nymph, if Claudius will be wise ; 
Fortune and birth, be he but blest with sense, 
Will give him more than labour' d eloquence ! 
What though deficient he in Grattan's fire, 
Canning's fine irony, Grey's nobler ire, 
Let him but heed the People's genuine voice, 
Their boundless love will make his heart rejoice. 
Soon will he thank his God that gratitude 
Can warm a peasant's heart however rude ! 
Smiles that light up fair woman's face impart 
Joy to the senses, sunshine to the heart : 
While gay good humour laughs from Clara's eyes, 
Her brow is more serene than summer skies. 
A wit offends ; soon anger in her frown 
Like thunder sleeping in a cloud is shown. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. «3 

Hapless the wight on whom it chance to burst ; 
What devil than a scold is more accurst ? 

Metella, Fashion's most prevailing star, 
Brilliant as Venus rising in her car ; 
Metella (scorn sits lovely on her lips) 
Frowns, can another's radiance her's eclipse ? 
A purse-proud rival, not in loveliness 
Dares to surpass her, but in wealth's excess. 
Shall then the Day-God's flower that flaunting shows 
Its yellow hue, raise envy in the rose ? 
Oh, no ! Metella's splendour far outshines 
Her rival's grandeur, were she queen of mines. 
Taste, birth's obedient fairy waves her wand 
Through her saloon — Gold cannot taste command. 
Turn we from scenes like these ; and long and loud 
The Preacher's voice is heard above the crowd, 
Denouncing all those vanities, that late 
Gladden'd our spirits ; these awhile we hate, 
Though Saints far more attractive to the eye 
Than Guido's fair Madonnas near us sigh. 



64 FOURTH EPISTLE 

One act of real virtue bears the impress 
Of Deity upon it, nothing less, 
Outlasting all the glittering gauds that Pride 
Delights the fool with, ay the wise beside. 

So says the Preacher : trembling, we believe 
His words, but still again ourselves deceive ; 
Still to the world return, with zest increased, 
Like parting coursers in the field released. 

Though timid Cocknies scorn (a nerveless race) ( c ) 

That life of life, the madness of the chase : 

The draw, the find, the soul-exciting burst, 

The burning emulation to be first ; 

These are delights ; but sports must lose their zest, 

When days are blank, and spirits are deprest. 

Lucilius, burden'd with superfluous coin, 
Pants the kind sharers in his wealth to join, 
Where Crockford's palace glares upon his eyes, 
As a proud harlot sense of shame defies* 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 65 

How true the proverb, " Cobwebs that enfold 
The less, on greater reptiles loose their hold." 
Wondering that men can thus their money lose ; 
Sons of virtu, a better part you choose. 

Some book, it matters not in prose or rhyme, ( d ) 
You buy, — we '11 call it " Pleasure's rare Passe-tyme ;" 
Or drag some dusty picture to the day, — 
Cheap, if you have five hundred pounds to pay : 
The picture, you remove the sacred dust, 
Had better in its former station rust ; — 
The book, how vast your agony of grief ! 
More precious than the Sibyl's, wants a leaf ! 

Tullius, whose well-stored library 's a hive 
Of sweets the varied flowers of genius give, 
Is but a drone : from book to book he flies ; 
Tastes all, contributes nothing, — useless dies. 

Where to support the poor, Bazaars are graced 
With high-born dames behind the counter placed : 



66 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Fair Seraphina studiously displays 
Her pretty wares for charity, or praise. 
Works finish'd by her lovely hands attract 
Attention ; here a novel, there a tract : 
These works her varied inclinations paint ; 
The fair, as fashion wills, is blue, or saint ! 

This sickly feeling, that can never thrive, 
Unless by Pleasure's aid 'tis kept alive — 
Call you this Charity, that He approves 
Who knows the spring that every action moves ? 
This charity, that's borne, as Angels sing, 
To God's eternal mount, on Seraph's wing ? 

Though Nature in her noblest mood has made 
Sydney in camps, and Howard in the shade, 
Moral phaenomena ! more rare, I fear, 
Than an Iago, or Sir Giles, are here : 
Benevolence, pure element of good, 
Is dash'd with grosser matter in our blood. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 67 

Orfellus gives you feasts, to glut his pride : 
You ask a loan of him, he turns aside. 
While Bavius prates of friendship in his verse, 
Yet from the dearest friend withholds his purse.— 
The generous man — he whom the world com- 
mends, — 
Fills high the sparkling wine-cup for his friends ; 
And yet this hospitable reveller lives 
For self, for self alone his banquet gives. 
What though this Pharisee exalts his horn 
On high, and views a brother's woes with scorn ; 
When placed before the judgment seat of Heaven, 
The scorner may be lost, the scorn' d forgiven. 

Fame cries that Appius, generous wight, but lives 
To bless his neighbour : all he has he gives. 
Though in subscriptions be his name enroll' d, 
His virtue glitters — 'tis not sterling gold : 
No prayer of those he has relieved by stealth, 
Consecrates alms that trumpet forth his wealth. 

f 2 



68 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Croesus for unimagined pleasure pants ; 
His very pain is that he nothing wants : 
His life, a calm so sickling to the soul, 
Were worse to many than the tempest's howl. 

Tis the pursuit that cheers us ; when attain'd, 
The object is as speedily disdain'd ; 
Of wealth unbounded, as in rank the first, 
Croesus with fulness of enjoyment 's curst. 

Crassus, rich child of dulness, lives among 
High orators and mighty sons of song: 
Admitted to the table of the Gods, he's hit, 
Like Vulcan, by their frequent shafts of wit. 

Strange are the qualities in Man commixt ! 
Firm in some things, in others how unfixt ! 
Can that Valerius, whose high worth is seen 
In public actions, be in private mean ? 
Or can Ambrosius point beyond the grave 
A Hell for sinners, and become a knave ? 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 69 

How the arch-tempter loves within his toils 
To catch reluctant dragons I they are spoils. 
The same imaginary sorrows vex 
Unquiet spirits, the same cares perplex ; 
Go to the Court, what characters are there ? 
The same by Pope described, or La Bruyere. 

Eugenius daily with unwearied zeal 

Resumes his labours for the common weal ; 

Neglects his fine estate, with study pale 

O'erworks his brains, and what does this avail ? 

The dullest idler may in public speak 

Better than him — our Patriot's nerves are weak. 

Ascanius, for his trade too honest, dives 

Into the depths of policy, and strives 

In Sabbathless pursuit of fame to be 

What never with his nature can agree. 

Too good, though train'd up in the statesman's school, 

To see through those whom selfish passions rule ; 






7 9 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Too sensitive to bear against the blast 
Of faction till its rage be overpast. 

Each flying shade, each transient light will throw 
Young Flaccus into fits of joy or woe. — 
The breath of censure, frown of scorn, will shake 
His frame, until his heart-strings almost break. 
If but a feather's weight oppress his nerves, 
The mind disjointed from its purpose swerves. 



Scarce on his self-raised eminence appear'd 

Publius; the harass'd sons of freedom cheer'd. 

To him, as to the pillar'd fire that burn'd 

At night before the Israelites, they turn'd. 

Struggling 'gainst tyranny's recurring wave 

They heard his voice, all-powerful to save ; 

(A voice that fulmining o'er Europe shamed 

Power from attempting schemes that cunning framed,) 

With energy renew'd then upwards sprung, 

And firmly to their rock of safety clung. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 71 

As falls the mighty column in its pride, 

Publius had reach' d Ambition's height, and died. 

Perish'd a statesman as erect and great, 

As from its watch-tower e'er o'erlook'd the state. 

Political Economy ! how few ( e ) 

Through thy strange labyrinth can find a clue ! 

Soon as he enters it, the Tyro's lost, 

On every side by turns of " value" crost. 

Then let Ricardo, mighty guide, direct 

His steps ! let Malthus shout each different sect ! 

Dear is our country to us, dear our law, 

As perfect as a gem without a flaw : 

Were he alive the dicast-lashing bard, 

Whose wit is brilliant, though 'tis somewhat hard, 

Would Mitchell's great Apollo dart his gibe ( f ) 

At virtuous England's fee-receiving tribe ? 

While Justice with her well-poised balance stands, 

The weights pass slowly through a thousand hands. 



72 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Since some there are who, menaced with a jail, 
Invent, by conscience unappall'd, a tale ; 
Who join a company whose traffic lies 
In certain wares, that men call perjuries ; 
Who live begirt by knaves from day to day 
On alms supplied them by the law's delay. 

Invention comes, unfolding every hour, 
Of steam the almost preternatural power. 
What cannot mind achieve whose magic skill 
Rules this reluctant element at will ? 
It may perchance some mightier power create, 
That now in depths of night its fiat wait. 
Improvement points to paths yet unexplored, 
Where realms of science richest spoils afford. 

Hundreds, where one but formerly essay'd, 
Attempt through learning's deepest paths to wade 
Fame's temple with her thousand portals still 
Is placed on high ; but all ascend the hill. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 73 

Ye few secure yon heights above to keep 
Your stations now — is this a time to sleep ? 
The mild interpreter of Nature now 
Had been a Faustus centuries ago, ( s ) 
Nor God, nor Daemon scarcely prized, no more, 
He adds his mite unto the common store, 
The gain of patient thought ; meanwhile increase 
Through mutual intercourse the gifts of peace. 
Commerce, the nurse of Freedom, rears afar 
Her flag triumphant o'er wide-wasting war. 
Though Prejudice still struggles to maintain 
Her long ascendency, she strives in vain. 

The " Georgics of the mind," so widely spread 
Is knowledge, make the rudest hind well-bred. 
Beggars in metaphor your alms entreat, 
And low-born knaves like Gentlemen can cheat. 
Milkmaids write flowing lines on purling rills, 
And Owen's happy children dance quadrilles. 
Some master minds there are, that still excel 
The rest, as Davy's vast discoveries tell; 



74 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Unrivaird in his art, with what success, 
He bore the Torch through Chemistry's recess ! 
From age to age his deep research shall wake 
Some genius slumbering else on Lethe's lake, 
Whose talents in a moment may, by chance, 
For years the knowledge of his art advance. 

The sun of science in its noonday blaze 
Glorious would strike our Bacon with amaze, 
Were he again revisiting this earth 
To view its progress, as he hail'd its birth. 

But genius came all-perfect from above, 
As sprung Minerva from the head of Jove, 
Play'd in bold lightnings o'er the Theban's lyre, 
And shone round Homer's head a crown of fire : 
Fresh as their air, and brilliant as their sky, 
Flow'd on the deep stream of their Poesy. 
In lovely Greece, while yet the world was young, 
Pregnant with intellect such Poets sung ; 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 75 

In that fair clime, by subtle Taste refined 
Came forth the rich creations of the mind. 
Beauty and wit, bright idols of the crowd, 
Beneath a veil of allegory glow'd. 
Are not our Bards of olden times confest 
By all to be more potent than the rest ? 

Shakspeare, whate'er I may presume to call ( h ) 
Thee, Moralist, Bard, Sage, or all in all ; 
May I approach thy intellectual throne, 
While now all spirits are to thee as known 
As once on earth mankind, and bow the knee, 
Thou Idol of an English heart, to thee. 
What but thy wondrous talent could display 
Such perfect samples of the grave and gay ? 
As Hamlet's melancholy mood we quit 
For Hal's light badinage and FalstafFs wit. (*) 
Compared with thine, the noblest dramas fraught 
With genius, are but rudiments of thought ; 



76 FOURTH EPISTLE 

And images the bard profusely pours, 
As if he never could exhaust his stores, 
On every glowing verse, but give the change 
Of a few fancies circumscribed in range. 
Invention's unborn sons might yet produce 
Works, bending Nature's will to human use ; 
Another Watt may bless mankind ; but when 
Shall Shakspeare's inspiration live again ? 

Shakspeare, the glorious morning-star that cheer'd 
Our dawn of literature, has disappear'd ; 
What light has since uprisen to adorn 
The noon, as that illumed the purple morn ? 
One like a meteor ( k ) (Nations gazed, admired,) 
Rush'd on our sight, blazed momently, expired. 
Its radiance, flashing on our memory, warms 
Us still ; in dreams its noble aspect charms. 
The rage for all that 's marvellous and new 
Pervades the crowd, a love of truth but few. 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 77 

With Shakspeare and the Northern Seer content, 
Why heed we what inferior minds invent ? 

Far as our language spreads, from clime to clime, 
Is Shakspeare's muse upborne on wings of time : 
Thousands unborn her glorious flight shall hail : — 
Nature is ever felt though customs fail. 

Now Authors come at Fashion's call in haste 

To please with varied food the public taste. 

Well ! they are idols of the day, and have 

All that they want — what r s fame beyond the grave ? 

An unsubstantial glare that flickers o'er 

Ambition's dangerous eminence, no more — 

Let Milton wait posterity's award, 

'Tis present gain that charms the modern bard. 

A bard triumphant, disregarding facts, 

Some known event from History's page extracts : 

Drawn from a Poem that just praise hath won, 

The tale is through a lengthen'd novel spun ; 



78 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Here fiction o'er a wider surface blends 
Itself with truth, and common sense offends. 

Are not the Novelists whose bright renown 
Blazed through all Italy — now scarcely known ? 
Except Boccaccio ; (He who reads must smile 
At his fine wit, and love his perfect style.) 
And yet the gems that from invention's mine 
They drew, than ours more beautifully shine. 

A tale of real life by Fashion wove, 

Each has its season, high and low approve. 

Another follows, incidents surprise — 

And scenes of woe with tears fill loveliest eyes. 

As a high-crested wave o'ertops the rest, 
Then foaming breaks on Ocean's heaving breast ; 
Thus towers awhile, his Brother-Bards among, 
Some mightier Poet, how sublime in song ! 
Till, on the wide expanse of ages cast, 
He's caught within oblivion's gulf at last! 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 79 

Since thoughts successive in another sphere, 
Excel those of our brightest moments here : 
Why should he seek distinction, which acquired, 
He may hereafter scorn, though now desired ! 
Unless the master-spirits of this earth 
Then relatively greater shall shine forth. 

How oft in bygone days we loved to quote 

Each gentle verse that Pope to Harley wrote ; (') 

Or that sweet lay, in which while he adored 

" Mary in Heaven," poor Burns his soul outpour'd ; 

To snatch, (can words the depth or breadth express 

Of Wordsworth) 'raptured with their loveliness, 

The pearls of wisdom, that, beneath his stream 

Of poetry, as pure as Derwent's, gleam. 

Oh these are Poets we may call divine ; 

Like Angels standing in the Sun, they shine. 

Point out to us exultingly the way 

That leads to Truth's abode as bright as day. 

They give the freshest hue to every flower 

Year after year ; they waken thoughts that tower 



80 FOURTH EPISTLE 

Above our sordid schemes on earth ; they blend 
Emotions here, with those which heavenward tend. 
May we, once having past death's confines, see 
In their own orbs the great, the good, the free : 
That " old man eloquent" ( m ) whose mind was stored 
With ancient, modern lore, a boundless hoard ! 
Whose genius e'en o'er common subjects threw 
Embroidery of language ever new ! 

Newton ! La Place ! what mind can comprehend 

The worlds through which all-seeing they ascend ! 

While to their gaze as crystal mirrors clear, 

The wonders of the Universe appear. 

As knowledge burns within them, on their sight 

In full perspective burst the realms of light, 

One blaze, no momentary cloud obscures, 

Such as the eye of mind alone endures ! 

From strength to strength, unclogg'd by grosser sense, 

Progressive grows each fine intelligence. 

The shades of mystery vanishing, at last 

All harmonize — the present — future — past — 



TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 81 

Like interchange of sunbeams, thought with thought 

Has quick communion, — wisdom comes unsought ; 

And mind with all the sciences instinct 

That rainbow-like are blended yet distinct, 

With mind converses ; Envy never throws 

One shadow there where Love's pure effluence flows. 

Oh what ineffable delight above, 

To know, to feel, that all around is love ! 

Though broken be the lute, the magic skill 
Of the musician lives within him still- 
Shall not that efflux bright from Heaven, the mind, 
Survive the ruins of its " corporal rind ?" 
Crown'd with transcendant splendours far and wide, 
Then range, and Time's decaying touch deride. 
Drawing by turns into itself whate'er 
It sees around that 's wonderful or fair ? 
Collecting knowledge infinite each hour, 
As the Bee gathers sweets from every flower. 
Beings we partially imagine now, 
Gay creatures of our day-dreams, then will glow 



82 



FOURTH EPISTLE. 



Star-like in lustre, beauteous as that morn, 

When above Eden's mount the Day-God rose new-born. 

Will pass in waves of light the mind before 

That then may dare their nature to explore, 

Whatever be its element ; or flame, 

Or finer essence that we cannot name. 



NOTES. 



G 2 



NOTES ON THE FIRST EPISTLE 
TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



( a ) Cethegus shines alike with talents rare, 
Or in St. Giles's, or in Grosvenor-square. 

It is the boast of a very sporting character, that he is 
equally at home at the Beggar's Opera in St. Giles's, and at 
Carlton Palace. 



( b ) So strange is taste, that some do not disdain 
To breathe the wholesome air of Maiden-lane. 
The celebrated Professor Porson passed several " noctes 
atticee" at the cyder-cellar in Maiden-lane, where, as Moore 
says of the famous Tom Crib, he shone the ve$s\riy$piT* 
Z,v S of surrounding gods. 



( c ) Nor Ude's best fare. 
Ude, a distinguished French cook, who has published a 



36 NOTES ON THE 

work on the famous art of cookery. It certainly is " ca- 
viare to the general.' 7 



(d) Compared with his, e'en Egan's sports are tame. 
Whoever wishes to be acquainted with a pious prank of 
the celebrated Earl of Wharton, may peruse No. 22 of the 
Examiner, written by Dean Swift, who there relates a truly 
edifying anecdote of his Lordship. Mr. Egan, in his i( Life 
in London/' has given a most attractive picture of the plea- 
sures, which those who are initiated in the mysteries of 
fashion may enjoy in the Metropolis. 

su per le dita 
Tutte di Londra le taverne e i bagni, 
E i eavalli piu rapidi, e di galli 
Piu bellicosi, e di piii chiara stirpe, 
E i piii trernendi pugili. — Pindemonte. 

When there are so many employments for a man of spirit, 
who would be idle ? we leave it to Frenchmen 

Sauter, danser, faire l'amour, 

Et boire vin blanc et vermeil ; 

Et ne rien faire tout le jour, 

Que compter escus au soleil. — Rabelais. 

Here let me rest in this sweet solitude, 
Where knaves and parasites shall ne'er intrude ! 
No bacchanals are here, to give pretence 
For wild excess, or ruinous expense : 



FIRST EPISTLE. 87 

In yon delightful wood I love to hear, 

Though strange may seem the notes, a welcome cheer. 

The birds, by nature fed, ask nought of me ; 

Theirs is at least no counterfeited glee. 

Is not this better than among the crowd 

To fret, and gaze, and cringe before the proud ? MS. 



NOTES ON THE SECOND EPISTLE 
TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



(*) When Kemble, like the god-like hero, shone. 

It is an epoch in a man's life to have seen Kemble in 
Coriolanus. I have no more an abstract idea of Coriolanus 
as separated from Kemble, than Martinus Scriblerus had of 
a Lord Mayor without his insignia of office, his gold chain, 
&c. This great actor possessed the qualities necessary to 
make a first-rate tragedian in an eminent degree ; but his 
distinguishing excellence was taste, which, in an ode, spoken 
at a public dinner given to Mr. Kemble upon his retirement 
from the stage, is thus beautifully described by the most 
refined poet of the present day : — 

Taste, like the silent gnomon's power, 

To which supernal light is given ; 
That dials inspiration's hour, 

And tells its height in Heaven. 



SECOND EPISTLE. 89 

( b ) At once their world of poetry and wit ! 

Shakspeare, Massinger, Fletcher ! whom we might thus 
address in the language of an excellent modern poet, 

Illustres animse ! si quid mortalia tangunt 
Ceelicolas ! si gentis adhuc cura ulla Britannse ; 
Vos precor, antiquum vos instaurate vigorem ; 
Ut tandem excusso nitamur ad ardua somno, 
Virtutis verae memores, et laudis avitse. 

Hawkins Browne, DeAnimi immortalitate* 






( c ) Like Machiavel in politics, 

" It has been contended by some of Machiavel's apolo- 
gists that his real object in unfolding and systematizing the 
mysteries of King- Craft, was to point out indirectly to 
the people the means by which the encroachments of their 
rulers might be most effectually resisted ; and at the same 
time to satirize under the ironical mask of loyal and courtly 
admonition, the characteristical vices of princes. But al- 
though this hypothesis has been sanctioned by several dis- 
tinguished names, and derives some verisimilitude from 
various incidents in the author's life, it will be found on 
examination quite untenable ; and accordingly it is now, I 
believe, very generally rejected. One thing is certain, 
that if such were actually Machiavel's views, they were 
much too refined for the capacity of his royal pupils." 

See Dugald Stewart's Preface to the Supplement 
to the Encyclopedia Britannica. 



90 NOTES ON THE 

( d ) Yet politics are but ephemeral things, 
" The very dregs and rinsings of the human intellect/' 
as the author of the ( ' Confessions of an English Opium 
Eater ' says. 



( e ) Kings, though the world 9 s progressive, will be kings : 

Statesmen are statesmen still. 
La bonne for, dit le Senateur Nani, manquera dans 
Texecution des traitez tant que vivra l'interest ; et l'in- 
terest vivra tant que les princes regneront. 

L'Empereur Maximilien disoit que les princes ne s'arre- 
toient pas au texte de leurs traitez et de leurs capitulations, 
mais a la glose, c'est a dire, a Interpretation quils y 
vouloient donner. 

Lettres du Cardinal d'Ossat, avec les Notes de 
M.Amelot de la Houssaie. 



( f ) The skeleton at least of Taylor's prose. 

The great Jeremy Taylor, of whom an eloquent writer 
in the Edinburgh Review thus justly says : i( We will ven- 
ture to assert that there is in any one of the prose folios of 
Jeremy Taylor more fine fancy and original imagery, more 
brilliant conceptions and glowing expressions, more new 
figures, and new applications of old figures, more, in short, 
of the body and soul of poetry, than in all the odes, and the 
epics that have since been produced in Europe. 

Article on Ford's Dramatic Works, August 1811. 






SECOND EPISTLE. 91 

(e) Notes tersely pencill'd show sententious wit. 

As Witwoulcl says in Congreve's " Way of the "World," 
" Thou hast uttered folios in less than decimo sexto, my 
dear Lacedemonian; Sirrah Petulant, thou art an epito- 
mizer of words." 



( h ) Philips will sell their gewgaws that amaze, &c. 
,i Mine eyes have made 
Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd ; 
Each sparkling diamond from itself shot forth 
A pyramid of flames, and in the roof 
Fix'd it a glorious star, and made the place 
Heaven's abstract or epitome City Madam. 

Such was the wealth displayed in the house of a cele- 
brated character, who rivalled in magnificence the Sultan 
of Gazna, or Musicanus. 



(*) Who buys not glittering toys when very dear. 

This line may appear absurd to those who have not been 
at fashionable auction-rooms, nor have witnessed the com- 
petition that there is among bidders to purchase articles of 
no intrinsic value whatever, merely because they belonged 
to a " Man of Fashion." I have know^books to bring a 
very high price at auctions because they were collected by 
a black-letter hunter, which might have been bought for 
half the sum at many booksellers' shops in London. 



92 NOTES ON THE 

( k ) Who loves to breathe, &c. 

I am indebted for this idea to the following beautiful 
passage in Tom Jones. 

" It was now the middle of May, and the morning was 
remarkably serene, when Mr. All worthy walked forth on 
the terrace, where the dawn opened every minute that lovely 
prospect, we have before described, to his eye. And now 
having sent forth streams of light which ascended to the 
firmament before him, as harbingers preceding his pomp, in 
the full blaze of his majesty uprose the Sun; than which 
one object alone in this lower creation could be more glo- 
rious, and that Mr. Allworthy himself presented ; a human 
being replete with benevolence, meditating in what manner 
he might render himself most acceptable to his Creator, by 
doing most good to his creatures." 

This is the portrait of a fictitious personage ; but I see in 
it a close resemblance to one whose memory I shall never 
cease to venerate ! 



( ! ) Burke says ambition is too bold a vice. 

" Avarice is a rival to the pursuits of many. It finds a 
multitude of checks, and many opposers in every walk of 
life. But the objects of ambition are for the few, and every 
person who aims at indirect profit, and therefore wants 
other protection than innocence and law, instead of its rival 
becomes its instrument. There is a natural allegiance and 



SECOND EPISTLE. 93 

fealty due to this domineering paramount evil from all the 
vassal vices, which acknowledge its superiority, and readily 
militate under its banners ; and it is under that discipline 
alone that avarice is able to spread to any considerable 
extent, or to render itself a general public mischief." — 
Burke's Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's Debts, 

Cosi cresce '1 desir vile et immondo 
Del crudel oro 3 et 1' insatiabil rabbia, 
Onde non gusta huom mai viver giocondo. 

Ariosto, Satira Quarta. 



( m ) Crispus with studied negligence will speak. 

II ne faut pas juger des hommes comme d'un tableau, 
ou d'une figure sur une seule et premiere vue ; il y a un 
interieur et un cceur qu'il faut approfondir : le voile de la 
modestie couvre le merite, et le masque de l'hypocrisie 
cache la malignite; il n'y a qu'un tres-petit nombre de 
connoisseurs qui discern e, et qui soit en droit de prononcer; 
ce n'est que peu a peu, et forces meme par le temps et les 
occasions, que la vertu parfaite et le vice consomme vien- 
nent enfin a se declarer. 



NOTES ON THE THIRD EPISTLE 
TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



(») When life, and light and love, the trinal beam, 
Shall flow upon the good in endless stream. 

Noi semo usciti fuore 

Del maggior corpo al Ciel, ch' e pura luce ; 
Luce intellettual piena d' amore, 
Amor di vero ben pien di letizia, 
Letizia, che trascende ogni dolore. 

Dante Del Paradiso. Canto 30. 



( b ) Then in my mind are suddenly revived 

The days when Sidney, 'flower of knighthood/ lived. 

How delightful is the character of Sir Philip Sidney, as 
given by Dr. Zouch ! — " The elegance of his manners ; the 
versatility of his genius, adapting itself to the acquisition 
of universal knowledge ; his unbounded munificence ; his 
amiable demeanour in domestic life ; his tender feelings for 
the miseries of those persecuted Protestants, who in defence 



THIRD EPISTLE. 95 

of their religion and liberties, resisted the savage insolence 
of Spanish tyranny; the suavity of his disposition, so 
alluring that he was, as it were, nursed in the lap of the 
Graces ; an experience above his years ; an invincible pa- 
tience under the most acute sufferings — all these qualities 
will render his name grateful to future ages. His dignified 
and winning deportment filled every beholder with de- 
light/' — Zouctis Memoirs of Sidney , page 349. 



( c ) ' c That now one boundless present will endure." 

" One boundless Present — one eternal Now/' — Young. 



( d ) And the columnar cactus towers unto the skies. 

" The hill of calcareous breccia which we have j ust re- 
garded as an island in the ancient gulf, is covered with a 
thick forest, of columnar cactus and opuntia. Some thirty 
or forty feet high, covered with lichens, and divided into 
several branches in the form of candelabras, wear a singu- 
lar appearance. Near Maniquarez, at Punta Araya, we 
measured a cactus, the trunk of which was four feet nine 
inches in circumference/' — Humboldt's Personal Narrative. 



(e) This gifted Being, to the haunts of men 

Preferrd the mountains height, or lonely glen. 
The following beautiful lines, extracted from the tragedy 
of Count Julian, are applicable to a great Poet, and 



96 NOTES ON THE 

excellent Man, who is shadowed out under the character 
of Eumolpus. 

No airy or light passion stirs abroad 
To ruffle or to soothe him ; all are quell' d 
Beneath a mightier, sterner stress of mind ! 
Wakeful he sits, and lonely and unmoved 
Beyond the arrows, views, or shouts of men : 
As often-times an i Eagle,' when the sun 
Throws o'er the varying earth his early ray, 
Stands solitary, stands immovable 
Upon some highest cliff, and rolls his eye 
Clear, constant, unobservant, unabashed 
In the cold light, above the dews of morn. 

Count Julian, Act v. Scene 2, 



( f ) One might his highly polish'd wit compare 
To the snow-diamond beautiful and rare, 

" The most frequent colours of the diamond, as already 
mentioned, are the white and grey ; and of these the most 
highly prized by the Jeweller are the snow-white/' — Jamie- 
sons Mineralogy. 



(°) Yet praise is dear to all — the world's, alas, 
(As wet and dry affect the weather-glass ) 
Or given or withheld can raise or sink 
The spirits, 'tis for that we act and think. 



THIRD EPISTLE. 97 



" Sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum 
Subruit, ac reficit." — Horat. Ep. 



( h ) Antimachus, (since such a name the Muse 

Reluctant for the wayward youth must choose,) 

Antimachus in the " Nubes of Aristophanes/' according 
to the scholiast, is a very handsome and very profligate 
vouth. 



(•) But with alternate colours dark and bright, 
The glaring contrast shocks the moral sight. 

Such a contrast of colours was exhibited in the charac- 
ters of the Alcibiadeses, Cesars, Whartons, and Boling- 
brokes of their day : the character of Lord Bolingbroke is 
so admirably painted by Lord Chesterfield, that I will make 
no apology for introducing it here, though it be well known. 

" Here the darkest, there the most splendid colours, and 
both rendered more shining from their proximity. Impe- 
tuosity, excess, and almost extravagancy, characterised 
not only his passions, but even his senses. His youth was 
distinguished by all the tumult and storm of pleasures in 
which he most licentiously triumphed, disdaining all deco- 
rum : His fine imagination has often been heated and ex- 
hausted with his body in celebrating and deifying the pros- 
titute of the night ; and his convivial joys were pushed 

H 



98 NOTES, &c. 

to all the extravagancy of the most frantic Bacchanals. 

Those passions were interrupted but by a stronger — 
Ambition/' 



( k ) Happy as Demonax. 
Demonax was the good Philosopher of Cyprus, as de- 
scribed by Lucian : he lived to the age of a hundred. He 
was a wit, a man of genius, and a virtuous citizen. 






NOTES ON THE FOURTH EPISTLE 
TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 



( a ) Till in the sun her crisped smiles she wreathes. 

That o'er the interminable ocean wreathe 
Your crisped smiles. 

Potter's translation of the Prometheus Vinctus 
of JEschylus. 

Non avea pur Natura ivi dipinto, 

Ma di soavita di mille odori 

Vi facea incognito indistinto. — Dante. 



( b ) A ballet at the Opera it seems. 

There is nothing certainly in the artificial world more 
attractive than an Opera ballet, where for a time you seem 
to be transported among " amoretti alati/ 9 scenes worthy 
of Paradise, roseate clouds and " gay creatures of the 
element." 

Quae nee mortales dignantur visere coetus, 
Nee se contingi patiuntur lumine claro. 
h 2 



100 NOTES ON THE 

Thus Venus look'd, when from the waveless sea 
She rose ; (her rising Nature smiled to see,) 
Loosely enrobed, and brighter than the morn 
On car of young Hyperion upborne ; 
Fresh as the rose, her limbs impearl'd with spray, 
In floating shell the Queen of Rapture lay ; 
Admiring Mermaids throng'd to grace her train, 
The Syrens sang, and Nereids skimm'd the main. 

MS. 



( c ) Though timid cocknies scorn, a nerveless race. 

In spite of the ridicule of Fielding and other writers, I 
will venture to say, that those only depreciate the pleasures 
of the chase who know not how to enjoy them : the songs 
of Tyrtseus, who roused his countrymen to battle, and in- 
fused into them an unconquerable courage, are not more 
spirit-stirring than the verses on the Epwell hunt. — Vol. 3, 
page 457, Daniel's Rural Sports, teo edition. 

Even the greatest philosophers have enjoyed, and the 
greatest poets have extolled, the pleasures of the chase. 
Diogenes Laertius describes Xenophon as fond of the sports 
of the field. Virgil's fine lines in the third book of his 
Georgics are well known, 

Saepe etiam cursu timidos agitabis onagros, 
Et canibus leporem, canibus venabere damas. 
Saepe volutabris pulsos silvestribus apros 
Latratu turbabis agens, montesque per altos 
Ingentem clamore premes ad retia cervum. 






FOURTH EPISTLE. 101 

And Dry den in his letter to his Cousin, with more poetical 
animation, perhaps, than knowledge of sporting, says, 

With crowds attended of your ancient race 
You seek the champaign sports, or sylvan chase ; 
With well breathed beagles you surround the wood. 
Even then industrious of the common good ; 
And often have you brought the wily fox 
To suffer for the firstlings of the flocks ; 
Chased even amid the folds, and made to bleed 
Like felons, where they did the murderous deed. 

Sir Francis Burdett, perhaps the most eloquent speaker 
in the House of Commons, is not the worse orator for 
being " a good Meltonian ." 



( d ) Some book, it matters not in prose or rhyme. 

In a " priced Roxburghe catalogue,' 7 are the following 
books or tracts : 

No. 3268. The Passetyme of Pleasure, by Stephen Hawys. 
4to. very rare. London, Wynken de Worde, 1517. 81/. 

No. 3284. The Castell of Pleasure. 4to. very scarce. 
Wynken de Worde. 64Z. 

What earthly pleasure these " Castells and Passetymes'' 
give to the possessor, it is not perhaps very easy to deter- 
mine; but, as the noble author of "English Bards and 
Scotch Reviewers" justly observes, 

" A book's a book although there's nothing in it." 



102 NOTES ON THE 

( e ) Political economy is a study as yet in its infancy ; 
and so it will continue to be, as long as men are not agreed 
about the precise terms by which they would convey their 
ideas on this most interesting subject. 

Is value absolute or relative ? Are values of commodities 
to each other as values of their labours ? Is labour or money 
the most accurate measure of value ? Can there be such a 
thing as an invariable measure of value ? 

The disciples of Ricardo and Malthus differ upon points 
of essential importance. Are profits solely governed by the 
value of the last lands that are taken into cultivation? 
May not saving from revenue, to add to capital, be carried 
to too great an extent ? Is it true that if one branch of 
trade be overstocked, some other must necessarily be 
understocked ? Are a body of unproductive consumers ne- 
cessary to stimulate demand and to increase production ? 



( f ) Would Mitchell's great Apollo dart his gibe ? 

Aristophanes : see his " Vespse," in which the courts of 
justice at Athens are severely satirized. But, after all, who 
would form his opinion of those courts from the lively, 
caustic representations of a satirical comic poet ? As well 
might posterity form its opinion of a House of Commons in 
the reigns of Queen Anne, or the first George, from Swift's 
famous description of the " Legion Club." 

Great praise is due to Mr. Peel and Mr. Brougham (in 
the great work of reforming the law they may be classed 






FOURTH EPISTLE. 103 

together as fellow-labourers in the same vineyard,) for 
their exertions in endeavouring to remove the anomalies 
that are everywhere apparent in our civil as well as cri- 
minal code of jurisprudence. 

" It is not possible, indeed, to estimate how valuable an 
offer he makes to society who gives it a single good law. 
There are but few words, perhaps, that compose it ; but in 
those few words may be involved an amount of good, in- 
creasing progressively with each generation, which, if it 
could have been known in all its amplitude to the legislator 
at the time when he contrived his project, would have 
dazzled and overwhelmed his very power of thought. What 
is true of a new law, that relates to some positive institu- 
tion, is, as may be supposed, equally true of those laws 
which merely repeal and remedy the past ; since a single 
error in policy may, in long continuance, produce as much 
evil, as a single wise enactment may in its long continu- 
ance produce good." — Brown's Philosophy of the Human 
Mind, vol. 4. page 354. 



(e) Had been a Faustus centuries ago. 

The disposition of the people in former days to attribute 
any new discovery to magic, is apparent in the following 
anecdote of Otto Gurike, (who lived about the year 1640,) 
a wealthy magistrate of Magdeburgh, the discoverer of the 
air-pump. 

" Gurike took great pleasure in a huge water barometer 



104 NOTES ON THE 

erected in his house. It consisted #f a tube above thirty 
feet high, rising along the wall and terminated by a tall and 
rather wide tube, hermetically sealed, containing a toy of 
the shape of a man. The whole being filled with water and 
set in a balance on the ground, the column of liquor settled 
to the proper altitude, and left the toy floating on its sur- 
face ; but all the lower part of the tube being concealed 
under the wainscoating, the little image or weather manni- 
kin, as he was called, made its appearance only when 
raised up to view in fine weather. This whimsical contri- 
vance, which received the name of amenoscope, or semper 
vivum, excited among the populace vast admiration : and 
the worthy magistrate was in consequence shrewdly sus- 
pected of being too familiar with the powers of darkness/' — 
Supplement to Encyclopaedia Britannica, art, Barometer, 



( h ) The sun of science, in its noonday blaze 

Glorious, would strike our Bacon with amaze. 

The progress which may be made in the sublime science 
of astronomy is thus splendidly described by La Place. 

" We will ascertain whether the motions of rotation and 
revolution of the earth are sensibly changed by the changes 
which it experiences at its surface, and by the impact of 
meteoric stones, which according to all probability come 
from the depths of the heavenly regions. The new comets 
which will appear, those which moving in hyperbolic orbits 
wander from one system to another, the returns of those 



FOURTH EPISTLE. 105 

which move in elliptic orbits, and the changes in the form 
and intensity of light which they undergo at each appear- 
ance, will be observed ; and also the perturbations which all 
those stars produce in the planetary motions, those which 
they experience themselves, and which at approach to a 
large planet may entirely derange their motions ; finally, 
the changes which the motions and orbits of the planets 
and satellites experience from the action of the stars, and 
perhaps likewise from the resistance of the ethereal media ; 
such are the principal objects which the solar system offers 
to the investigation of future astronomers and mathemati- 
cians/' — La Place's System of the World. Harte's Transla- 
tion, vol. 2, p. 241. 



(*) As Hamlet's melancholy mood we quit 

For Hal's light badinage and Falstaff's wit. 

How beautifully Goethe, in his Wilhelm Meister, deli- 
neates the character of Hamlet ! It is too long to give in a 
note, but I have ventured to introduce the concluding part 
of this admirable exposition. 

" To me it is clear that Shakspeare meant in the present 
case to represent the effects of a great action laid upon a soul 
unfit for the performance of it. In this view, the whole 
piece seems to me to be composed. An oak-tree is planted 
in a costly jar which should have borne only pleasant flowers 
in its bosom: the roots expand; the jar is shivered. A 
lovely, pure, noble, and most moral nature, without the 



106 NOTES ON THE 

strength of nerve which forms a hero, shrinks beneath a 
burden it cannot bear and must not cast away. All duties 
are holy for him ; the present is too hard. Impossibilities 
have been required of him ; not in themselves impossibili- 
ties^ but such for him. He winds and turns and torments 
himself; he advances and recoils ; is ever put in mind, ever 
puts himself in mind ; at last, does all but lose his purpose 
from his thoughts, yet still without recovering his peace of 
mind. 



( k ) Shakspeare, whate'er I may presume to call 

" He unites in his existence the utmost elevation and the 
utmost depth ; and the most foreign and even apparently 
irreconcilable properties subsist in him peaceably together. 
The world of spirits and nature have laid all their treasures 
at his feet. In strength a demi-god, in profundity of view 
a prophet, in all-seeing wisdom a protecting spirit of a 
higher order, he lowers himself to mortals, as if unconscious 
of his superiority, and is as open and unassuming as a 
child." — Schlegel's Lectures on Dramatic Literature, vol. ii. 



Q) Byron. , 

( m ) Each gentle verse that Pope to Harley wrote. 

How beautiful and unaffected are the following lines in 
the Epistle addressed by Pope to the Earl of Oxford ! 



FOURTH EPISTLE. 107 

" And sure if aught below the seats divine 
Can touch Immortals, 'tis a soul like thine. 
A soul supreme in each hard instance tried, 
Above all pain, all passion, and all pride, 
The rage of power, the blast of public breath, 
The lust of lucre, and the dread of death." 

And yet there are writers who have asserted that Pope 
was no Poet, that he was a mere versifier, and deficient in 
natural feeling ! 



(n) Burke. 



THE 

QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE. 



Come forth. 
And taste the air of palaces, 

BEN JONSOX'S " ALCHEMIST.*' 



THE 



QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE 



I. 

The Queen of fair Golconda is " at home :" 
Her palace (its immensities must bar 
Description) is of gold ; the blazing dome 
Of one entire ruby, from afar 
Shines like the sun in his autumnal car 
Crowning a saffron mountain ; e'en the proud 
Zamorim's palace is as a twinkling star ( a ) 
Compared with this. And now the tromp aloud 
Proclaims the guests are come to an admiring crowd. 



112 THE QUEEN OF 

II. 

The ceilings, crusted o'er with diamonds, blaze. 

A galaxy of stars, room after room ! 

The lights interminable all amaze ; 

But far more dazzling are the fair in bloom 

Of youth, whose eyes kind answering looks illume. 

Ah ! where the Muse of greater bards must fail 

In painting female charms, shall mine presume 

To try her hand ? though similes be stale, 

Yet she to Fancy's eye their beauties will unveil. 

in. 
As delicately shaped as the gazelle ; 
As beautiful as is the blush of morn ; 
As gay as Hebe, ere, alas ! she fell ; 
Fair as Dione in her car upborne 
By little Loves, while Tritons wind the horn ; 
Splendid as young Zenobia in their dress 
(Crowns bright as sunny beams their hair adorn) 
They were. This perfect festival to bless, 

Art, Beauty, Nature, Grace, combine their loveliness ! 



GOLCONDA'S FETE. 113 

IV. 
Oh Youth and Beauty ! Nature's choicest gems, 
All Art's adornments ye for aye outshine : 
Far more attractive than the diadems 
That ever glitter'd on the brow divine 
Of the wise king, or, great Darius, thine. 
Though time may dim your lustre, in my heart 
Your charms shall be enshrined, while life is mine. 
Yet sad experience will this truth impart 

To loveliest maid on earth — a fading thing thou art. 

v. 
The Prophet has not to his faithful given 
(So prodigal of what he could not give) 
Such bliss refined in his Arabian Heaven, 
As that which they enjoy who here arrive. 
Vain bliss indeed ! that through a night may live ! 
Let but her joys be guiltless, Mirth again 
Will, when the season sweet returns, revive ! 
Then let to-morrow bring or bliss or pain : 

All are United now by Pleasure's flowery chain. 

i 



114 THE QUEEN OF 

VI. 

Fair silver pillars grace the spacious halls : 
The pavement is mosaic ; precious stones 
Enrich with intermingling hues the walls ; 
And emerald vines o'ercanopy the thrones, 
Robed in all colours that the Pavone ( b ) owns. 
And music, with its magic influence, makes 
The heart responsive to its tender tones : 
A master-spirit now the harp awakes, 
Till to its inmost core each hearer's bosom shakes ! 

VII. 

And here and there from golden urns arise, 
Impregn'd with perfumes, purple clouds, — that throw. 
Like hues just caught from fair Ausonia's skies, ( c ) 
Throughout the palace an Elysian glow, — 
Odorous as roses when they newly blow. 
And couches, splendid as the gorgeous light 
Of the declining sun, or high or low. 
As suits capricious luxury, invite 
To sweet repose indeed each pleasure-laden wight. 



GOLCONDA'S FETE. 115 

VIII. 

I pass the dance, the converse soft between., 
As fly the hours along with rapid pace. 
Lo ! in her chair of state Golconda's Queen 
Sits goddess-like ; majestic is her face, 
Yet mild, as well becomes her pride of place. 
Even Fatima in pomp of beauty ne'er ( d ) 
Received fair Montague with such a grace 
As this all-beauteous Queen withouten glare 
Of rank receives her guests — how winning is her air ! 

IX. 

Profusely gay, th' exuberance of joy 
All feel ; all feel their spirits mounting high ! 
One feast of happiness, that ne'er can cloy, 
Life seems to them, though death perchance be nigh. 
Why should fair bosoms ever heave a sigh ? 
Life is with love so closely knit, what kills 
Love in young breasts may dim the brightest eye. 
Yet tears, that eloquently speak of ills, 
Are as medicinal balm when grief the heart o'erfills. 

i 2 



116 THE QUEEN OF 

x. 
In whirls fantastical the waters dance, 
Springing from fountains jasper-paved ; the noon 
Of night their sparkling freshness doth enhance. 
How glorious is the cupola ! a moon 
Of pearl shines mildly o'er the vast saloon. 
Fair Queen of night, shall Art then imitate 
Thy quiet majesty? in sooth as soon 
Might the poor pageantries of regal state 
On earth, Heaven's matchless splendours vainly emu 
late! 

XI. 

The banquet is prepared with sumptuous cost ; 
Flagons of massive gold here flame around ! 
Amid the piles of wealth distinction 's lost, 
And splendours without end, the mind astound ! 
All that can feast the senses here abound ; 
Invention's highly-gifted sons unfold 
(So fine their art, the like was never found,) 
Peris most exquisitely wrought in gold, 
And other delicate sprights in Eastern fables told ! 



GOLCONDA'S FETE. 117 

XII. 

As if " instinct with living spirits," sing 
Birds of a thousand colours ; and their hues, 
Brilliant as flowers that o'er the meads in spring 
Their gay variety of tints diffuse, 
Would e'en the painter's shrewdest ken confuse. 
And Art, how wonderful ! has raised a tree 
To rival Nature ; (for such toys amuse 
Those who despise dear Nature's charms,) and see 
As the boughs stir — the birds all join in harmony. ( e ) 

XIII. 

Wealth, inexhaustible as Danae's shower, 
That pen can scarcely blazon, thought conceive, 
Excels not in itself the meanest flower 
That Innocence within her hair might weave 
Wandering on Avon's banks, this lovely eve ! 
Even Nature's humblest things can stir those deep 
Feelings within us that will ne'er deceive. 
Cherish these deep-sown feelings, ye shall reap 
A harvest of delight, when Pride in dust shall sleep. 



118 QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE. 

XIV. 

Not that I scorn this fete unparagon'd . 
Tis like a well-spring amid desert sands, 
Or a rich vale where Flora sits enthroned, 
Surrounded by bleak hills, and barren lands ! 
What cynic would destroy love's rosy bands ? 
The paths of life are thorny ; o'er our heads 
Those grim magicians, Cares, uplift their wands ! 
Why marvel, then, that youth their influence dreads. 
And basks him in the rays the sun of beauty sheds ? 

April f 1824. 



NOTES ON 
THE QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE. 



( a ) See the seventh book of Camoens' Lusiad. 



( b ) And wings it had with sondry colours dight 
More sondry colours than the proud Pavone 
Bears in his boasted fan, or Iris bright : 
When her discolour'd bow she bends through Heaven's 
height.— Spenser . 



( c ) Largior hie campos sether et lumine vestit 
Purpureo. — Virgil 

The setting sun produced the richest variety of tints in 
the opposite sky; among them was a lovely violet glow, 
rarely, if ever seen, in England. — Dallaways Constantinople. 



( d ) The following splendid description of the beauty and 



120 NOTES ON THE 

attractive manners of the " fair Fatima/' is from Lady 
Mary Wortley Montague's Letters. 

" She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their fashion, 
putting her hand to her heart with a sweetness full of majesty, 
that no court breeding could ever give. She ordered cushions to 
be given me, and took care to place me in the corner, which is 
the place of honour. I confess, though the Greek lady had be- 
fore given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck with 
admiration, that I could not for some time speak to her, being 
wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of fea- 
tures ! that charming result of the whole ! that exact proportion 
of body ! that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art ! the 

unutterable enchantment of her smile! Bat her eyes! 

large and blacky with all the soft languishment of the blue ! every 
turn of her face discovering some new grace. 

" After my first surprise was over, I endeavoured, by nicely 
examining her face, to find out some imperfection, without any 
fruit of my search, but my being clearly convinced of the error of 
that vulgar notion, that a face exactly proportioned, and perfectly 
beautiful, would not be agreeable ; nature having done for her 
with more success, what Apelles is said to have essayed, by a col- 
lection of the most exact features, to form a perfect face. Add 
to all this a behaviour so full of grace and sweetness, such easy 
motions, with an air so majestic, yet free from stiffness or affecta- 
tion, that I am persuaded, could she be suddenly transported upon 
the most polite throne of Europe, nobody would think her other 
than born and bred to be a queen, though educated in a country 
we call barbarous. To say all in a word, our most celebrated 
English beauties would vanish near her. 



QUEEN OF GOLCONDA'S FETE. 121 

u She was dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flowered with 
silver, very well fitted to her shape, and showing to admiration 
the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by the thin gauze of her 
shift. Her drawers were pale pink, her waistcoat green and 
silver, her slippers white satin, finely embroidered : her lovely 
arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle set 
round with diamonds ; upon her head a rich Turkish handker- 
chief of pink and silver, her own fine black hair hanging a great 
length in various tresses, and on one side of her head some bod- 
kins of jewels. I am afraid you will accuse me of extravagance 
in this description. I think I have read somewhere that women 
always speak in rapture when they speak of beauty, and I cannot 
imagine why they should not be allowed to do so. I rather think 
it a virtue to be able to admire without any mixture of desire or 
envy. The gravest writers have spoken with great warmth of 
some celebrated pictures and statues. The workmanship of Hea- 
ven certainly excels all our weak imitations, and, I think, has a 
much better claim to our praise. For my part, I am not ashamed 
to own I took more pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, 
than the finest piece of sculpture could have given me." 



( e ) Among other spectacles of rare and stupendous luxury 
was a tree of gold and silver, spreading into eighteen large 
branches, on which, and on the lesser boughs, sat a variety 
of birds made of the same precious metals, as well as the 
leaves of the tree. While the machinery effected sponta- 
neous motions, the several birds warbled their natural har- 
mony. — Gibbon 7 s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 
vol. x. p. 38, 8vo. edition. 



THE VIEW 



Say, why was man so eminently raised. 
Amid the vast creation ? Why ordain'd, 
Through life and death to dart his piercing eyt 
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ; 
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth, 
In sight of mortal and immortal power, 
As in a boundless theatre, to run 
The great career of justice ; to exalt 
His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; 
To chase each partial purpose from his breast, 
And through the tossing tide of chance and pain. 
To hold his course unfaltering. 

Akenside. 



THE VIEW. (•) 



I. 

The world has seen much change ; yet here art thou, 
Mont Blanc, while generations pass away ; 
Thy vast heights glistening with untrodden snow. 
On which the sun at eve imprints his ray ; 
There lingers yet the mild farewell of day. 
The blue lake sleeps below in tranquil sheen ; 
Here among Nature's miracles I'll pray 
To Nature's Deity ; how vast the scene ! 
The loveliest works of God — the grandest too are seen ! 



126 THE VIEW. 

II. 
Here from our slumbers light we rise to feel 
The consciousness of being ; fresh and free 
The soul pours forth its orisons with zeal 
To the great Spirit of Eternity 
That was, that is, and shall for ever be. 
The fertile valleys, giant mountains, prove 
The Omnipresence of the Deity ! 
Blest emblems of his wisdom, power, and loVe, 
Pervading all things here— around, below, above. 

in. 
The golden sun has colour' d all the woods ! 
Fresh views succeed ; each brighter than the last ! 
There barren rocks are channell'd by the floods, 
Here Flora's beauties cannot be surpast. 
Lausanne, an universe of charms thou hast ! 
There Winter's fetter'd in his icy bed: 
Steeps rise o'er steeps immeasurably vast : 
While the rude crags, projecting overhead, 
Strike in the stoutest hearts a momentary dread ! 



THE VIEW, 127 

IV. 

The ambitious rhododendron climbs the snow ; 

Pines darken round the mountain's sides ; behold ! 

A thousand rills from icy caverns flow, 

Rushing o'er rocks irregularly bold, 

Where the tenacious sapling keeps its hold : 

Below the dark stream with collected force 

Still rolling on, as it has ever roll'd, 

Through the wide plains shapes its resistless course, 

As rude as Ocean's self; as grand as is its source, 

v. 
Look on these glorious wonders ! think of Him, 
Lord of a million worlds, that have, perchance, 
Greater phenomena ! — -mine eyes grow dim, 
With gazing on these heights as we advance : 
Now all things seem enveloped in a trance, 
Save when at times the avalanche doth fall, 
Startling the ear ; still at a vast distance 
The masses of thick-ribbed ice appal 

The soul, as if they form'd the world's extremest wall ! 



128 THE VIEW. 

VI. 

The prospect -lengthens : far and far beneath 
See cities, mansions, beautifully placed, 
While the smoke rises in a frequent wreath 
From cottages by greenest arbours graced. 
These, like man's proudest works, may be defaced 
By War's unsparing hand ; but yonder trees, 
Self-planted, by thick-woven shrubs embraced, 
They with their towering grandeur long will please : 
How can the spoiler's axe fell forests such as these ? 

VII. 

The buoyancy of spirits, the wild hope 
Of something undefinable, the joy 
Of giving thus to all my feelings scope, 
Feelings, which man's injustice can't destroy — 
These bring back former years, and I 'm a boy, 
Joyful as sailor in his bounding bark, 
Whose rapid course no sudden squalls annoy ; 
Wild as the stag that spurns his narrow park, 
Light as the young chamois ( b ), blythe as the moun- 
tain lark ! 



THE VIEW. 129 

VIII. 
Is not the soul immortal ? Whence its thought ? 
Its constant aspirations after bliss ? 
Its vast capacity for good, if nought 
But a fortuitous element it is ? 
Away, nor preach a doctrine such as this ! 
For, by yon blessed sun-rise, there 's a road, 
Be but our faith unmoved, we cannot miss, 
That leads us to that ever-blest abode 
Where Mind perceives all things, not as here, thro' 
a cloud. 

IX. 

At Vevai lies our Ludlow ; there he dwelt, 
The patriot exile ; there he loved to roam ; 
There to the Father of all Mercies knelt : 
There Freedom woo'd him in her own sweet home, 
Presenting to his view an ample tome 
Wherein was writ (in characters how true) 
That an unyielding spirit doth become 
Man, when the many govern' d by the few 
Give to their masters praise that to their God is due. 

K 



130 THE VIEW. 

X. 

Yes ! the fresh air that penetrates around 
Bids us think nobly ; mountains, too, sublime 
The soul ; the free-wing'd things that here abound, 
Tell us that passive virtue is a crime, 
When tyrants would destroy the work of time ! 
Gaze on ! thy feelings here will teach thee more 
Than doubtful legends, or than lying rhyme ; 
Gaze on, and Heaven's magnificence adore ! 
Does not thine heart exult now to its very core ? 

XI. 

But, gloomy Calvin, how couldst thou prevail ( c ) 
With thy dark doctrines, and ascetic pride, 
W T here the ripe harvest smiles along the vale, 
Where glows the vintage near Lake Leman's tide, 
And all was mirth and cheerfulness beside ? 
Why didst thou not to northern regions hie, 
Or in some dreary wilderness abide ? 
Why spread thy faith where Heav'n and earth deny 
The truths of thy heart-withering creed of destiny? 



THE VIEW. 131 

XII. 

Yet Genius, eagle-eyed, has dared to raise 
The torch of truth on high, and here his few, 
His favour'd sons look'd up, with unblench'd gaze, 
On its eternal brightness ; those who knew 
The dignity of man, and prized it too. 
Alas ! to her, whose philosophic mind 
Show'd more than manly strength, a long adieu ! 
What, tho' her thoughts were somewhat too refin'd,( d ) 
She yet was Freedom's daughter — Pride of woman-kind ! 

XIII. 

Sweet wanderer ! art thou not happy now, 
Climbing the mountain steep with fairy feet, 
Thy cheeks carnation'd with health's vivid glow, 
Not flushing with the ball-room's impure heat ? 
Is not thy simple rural feast more sweet 
Than gorgeous suppers ? and the lovely things 
That court thy steps, companions far more meet 
For Nature's child, than those poor vain worldlings 
Who taint a woman's heart, then pierce it with their 
stings ? k 2 



132 THE VIEW. 

XIV. 

Thou might'st a model to Canova be 
For young Diana, with thy steps of lightness ; 
And none of living sculptors, none save he, 
Could image forth thy look of angel brightness. 
His Psyche's scarce excels thy bosom's whiteness ! 
Such as thou art, all-beauteous, and all-fair, 
Oh, may's t thou never trust the world's politeness^ 
But always breathe with joy as pure an air, 
Fresh as is yon wild-flower, that shuns the sun's full 
glare. 

xv. 
Had man no other duties ( e ) he might live 
In yonder vale ; his second Paradise ; 
Enjoying all that pure content can give : 
And while he lives, be, without learning, wise, 
Winning by silent prayer his heavenly prize. 
But this must never be : he can't forsake 
His post, though stung by calumny and lies. 
No ! rather let him be the more awake ! 
Give back his foemen blows that he is forced to take. 



THE VIEW. 133 

XVI. 

It is the lot of all to be reviled, 
And who can hope to 'scape that general lot ? 
Not I : the traitor-friend, who lately smiled 
And cringed before me, now remembers not 
Past favours ; what, are benefits forgot ? 
Ay more, ingratitude will cant, and hate, 
Hate, with his ready sponge, will quickly blot 
Out from the memory's tablet, sign or date 
Of friendship there ; and then hypocrisy will prate ! 

XVII. 

No matter ; tares will grow up with the wheat : 
And none but knaves deem all mankind the same- 
Though in society there be deceit, 
Yet there prevails the love of honest fame ; 
Still on her altars Friendship's holy flame 
Burns undiminish'd ; misanthropes may rail,. 
And sceptics smile, yet many could I name 
Whose generous zeal was never known to fail, 
Even in the hour of need, but then did most prevail. 



134 THE VIEW. 

XVIII. 

The true friend's heart as yonder lake is calm ; 
Pure as yon snows, but firm as mountain rocks : 
His voice is as the glowing morn, a balm 
To the hurt mind that 's felt the world's rough shocks ; 
His looks as cheerful as the sun's bright locks : 
This high-soul' d being fearlessly will shield 
A falling brother from the scorner's mocks. 
Oh ! when the book of life shall be unseal'd, 
How gladly shall his name by Angels be reveal'd ! 



XIX. 

Evils there are ; but many self-created 
In this our busy world : why should we grieve 
And murmur at our destiny, when fated 
To be alone ? why should we learn to weave 
The web of thought too finely, to deceive 
Ourselves, not others ? still, where'er thou art, 
*Mid cities, or near cottages, relieve 
The poor man's wants, thou wilt perform thy part 
Well on the stage of life, and blunt e'en Envy's dart ! 






THE VIEW. 135 

xx. 

Adieu, sweet country ! Of Helvetia's wrongs, 
Even in my childhood, have I thought, and wept. 
When the war-cry was heard where late the songs 
Of Innocence spread mirth around ; where slept 
The child securely ; where the goat-herd kept 
His flocks untroubled : then the spoiler came, 
Treading in innocent blood where'er he stept : 
Hell's horrid offspring — Anarchy his name ; 
Affecting Freedom's voice fair Freedom's cause to shame. 

XXI. 

Had France no Washingtons, Timoleons then, 
To point the way to Virtue's temple ? read 
The latest records of Corinna's pen,* 
And Gallia's woes will make thy bosom bleed. 
The plant she nourish'd was a poisonous weed ; 
Her friends were foes, none prized the golden mean; 
Each wild lawgiver had his separate creed ; 
All spoke in vain, the soldier rush'd between : 
Th' imperial consul's pomp then closed th' eventful scene. 
* Madame de Stael. 



136 THE VIEW. 

XXII. 

All things have their alloy ; go southwards on, 
See Italy, with varied landscapes gay, 
A waste of sweets ; the sun ne'er shone upon 
A lovelier country with a brighter ray ; 
Her very winter's softer than our May; 
What are its natives now, but imps from hell 
Peopling a Paradise ? ( f ) though kinglings pray, 
Those who degrade the human mind, as well 
As Satan's self, 'gainst God's high purposes rebel ! 

XXIII. 

Great Loyola ! how well thy sons succeed, 
Dwarfing man's intellect to tread him down ! 
'Tis not enough that he must toil and bleed 
To win for fellow-man, perchance, a crown : 
But Superstition scares him with her frown. 
Poor wretch ! to beg, to flatter, stab, or steal, 
(Such are the vices Jesuits spare,) alone 
He loves ; alas, to whom shall we appeal ? 
Oh! when will monarchs learn to prize the general weal? 



THE VIEW. 137 

XXIV. 

Here is Religion, robed in rich attire, 
To please the eye, not meliorate the heart ; 
Her pageantries, her glittering shrines, inspire 
Devotion, in which morals have no part. 
Does God delight in works of human mart ? 
He heedeth not the labour of man's hands ; 
He loves a soul devoid of guile and art ; 
Fear him, and love him, honour his commands, 
But his all-perfect state no earthly pomp demands ! 

XXV. 

Quick are the Italian's feelings, prompt to wrong ; 
Why may they not be then alive to good ? 
In this sweet land of Music and of song, 
The powers of the mind cannot be rude. 
What then doth cause revenge and acts of blood ? 
The vivid spirit that delights the muse, 
Not the less willing when she's fiercely woo'd. 
Those impulses, how dangerous their abuse, 
Which when directed well heroic acts produce. 



138 THE VIEW. 

XXVI. 

"Twas here the light of science first broke forth 

Amid the Gothic gloom of former ages ; 

Strange change ! that light's diffused throughout the 

earth. 
Yet Barbarism's evil genius rages 
E'en in a country long since famed for sages. 
Invasions, civil wars, the jealous strife 
Of princes, sully here the historian's pages. 
Awake, Italia' s sons, awake to life ; 
Throw off your foreign yoke, but scorn the inglorious 

knife. 

XXVII. 

Where Mind to marble gives a living grace — 
Where Music's inspiration's fully felt — 
Where Poetry all passions doth embrace 
In language form'd to rouse the soul, or melt — 
Where too the Muse of Painting long has dwelt ; — 
Can there be wanting courage-wakening men 
Who have not to imperial tyrants knelt ? 
Be what ye were in ages past again, 
Brave Milanese ( g ), the spoilers must re-seek their den. 



THE VIEW. 139 

XXVIII. 

And he, who mid dark cypresses and urns,( h ) 
Mourns o'er the buried mighty ones, in verse 
Plaintive as nightingale's sweet song — he burns 
To avert from Lombardy's fair plains the curse 
Of foreign slavery; what plague is worse? 
In vain Bologna boasts her learned youth ; 
In vain Firenze is of arts the nurse; 
The prisoner hates the light ; and lovely truth, 
When seen and not embraced, heightens our woes in 
sooth. 

XXIX. 

But Leopold's kind genius yet presides 
O'er rich Etruria's gardens ; there is man 
Comparatively happy; there resides 
Smiling Content. Though short may be the span 
Of life, when princes do what good they can 
They live for ever, not in marble busts, 
While the poor subject's looks are pale- and wan, 
Not in some courtly verse that lauds their lusts, 
But in that general wealth the stranger ne'er distrusts. 



140 THE VIEW. 

The exuberant produce Ceres here brings forth, 
(For here if husbanded she cannot fail,) 
Shows him at once the patriot monarch's worth. 
The numerous houses, studding hill and dale, 
The fattening olive with its leaves so pale, 
The cheerful peasantry, (for years must pass 
Ere laws that tend to improve mankind can fail 
In doing good, though scarce observed, alas !) 
Honour his memory more than monuments of brass. 

XXXI. 

I dream not of Utopias, nor a race 
Of patriot kings ; men may be better'd yet : 
If power be but administer' d with grace, 
Let monarchs shine in robes all gorgeous ; let 
The statesman boast his star and coronet : 
But as for those who first insult and scorn, 
Then catch within their Machiavelian net 
The freeborn mind, though diadems adorn 
Their brows, they hardly rank 'bove knaves ignobly 
born. 



THE VIEW. 141 

Oh Italy ! rich in thy wood-cover'd mountains, 
Thy rainbow-crown'd falls, and their ever-green foun- 
tains ; 
Thy skies in the thunder-storms, even, are bright, 
With the rapid effulgence of rose-colour'd light ; 
Thy shores do embrace, with their vast arms, the 

deep, 
On whose blue tranquil bosom the sun loves to sleep ; 
While silvery mists round its islets are gleaming, 
And gauze-clouds along the horizon are streaming ; 
And Horace yet lives near his favourite hill ; 
(The delicate air breathes his poetry still ;) 
Thy temples decay ; still their ruins are seen, 
Half grey through old time, or with ivy half green ; 
The fig-tree, pomegranate, pinastre, and vine, 
The blossoming almond-tree's blushes, are thine : 
But thy heroes are dust, and thy spirit is fled, 
And the last of thy warriors, the White-Plumed, is 
dead ! 



142 THE VIEW. 

XXXII. 

Amid rich orange-trees, whose beauteous fruit 
Glows like the western sun with deepen' d hue ; 
Where carelessly the southern plants up shoot, 
Their green contrasting to the sky's deep blue — 
Think ye to find Arcadian fables true ? 
Vain hope ! pale misery sallows every face, 
Yet still to Nature's works full praise is due : 
Oft in the peasant's wretched looks ye trace 
Some lineaments unspoil'd as yet of manly grace. 

XXXIII. 

Such were my thoughts when fast from Ischia's isle 
The little vessel bore me ; as the glare 
Of noon-day soften'd down itself awhile, 
A passing breeze o'er Baiae's bay so fair 
Gave a delicious fragrance to the air. 
Sunny Neapolis ! thy loveliness 
Of clime, thy fruitage, thy luxurious fare, 
Pamper thy sons with sensual excess; 
Thy daughters dream of nought save lustful wanton- 
ness ! 



THE VIEW. 143 

xxxiv. 
Here all is strenuous idleness ! the hum 
Of men, like children bustling about nought : 
The bawling mountebank, and frequent drum, 
Are glorious substitutes for troublous thought ; 
While business is unheeded and unsought. 
Here to the last they whirl around ; the bier 
Bears to the grave some noisy trifler caught 
By death ; the world's epitome is here ; 

The sight provokes a smile, commingled with a tear ! 

xxxv. 
Give Italy one Master, she will thrive 
Again, and triumph in her countless stores : 
But bigots with their deadening influence drive 
Wealth from her lands, and commerce from her shores, 
While Heaven its choicest gifts in vain out-pours. 
When Monks, in locust-swarms, oppress the soil, 
When the vile spy of Government explores 
The people's wealth — the industrious will not toil 

To enrich their puny Masters with a greater spoil. 



144 THE VIEW. 

XXXVI. 

Nor splendid portraitures, nor beds of state, 
Nor the rich ceiling's gay magnificence ; 
Nor sumptuousness of feasts, nor massy plate, 
Nor all the vain adornments of expense ; 
Nor marble statues, though Canova's, whence 
Beauty an almost breathing charm puts forth ; 
Nor heads of bronze, that seem inform'd with sense, 
Can give to sorrowing hearts a moment's mirth, 
Or soften down the pangs of care-worn sons of earth ! 

XXXVII. 

" Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow," 
Thought doth pervade the universe ; we seem 
More than this world can circumscribe to know ; 
Yet is our life but one protracted dream — 
For moralizing fools an endless theme. 
He, whom gaunt evil smites — whose days, though few, 
In thought are numberless, he well may deem 
That under Heaven there is nought that's new, 
His sole delight at length fair Nature's scenes to view. 



THE VIEW. 145 

XXXVIII. 

What is the pomp of art to him who loves 

On Chimborazo's height to breathe keen air ? (*) 

Or with a Humboldt fortunately roves 

Through forests deep ? — though all is savage there, 

Yet Nature seems to him for ever fair. 

As near the river's slow majestic course, 

Onward he roves, forgetful of past care ; 

His soul mounts up unto that very source 

Whence all existence springs, with an unusual force ! 

xxxix. 
Eternity — how wonderful it is ! 
A shoreless Ocean — nothing, every thing ! 
To be for ever what I shall be — this 
Far, far exceeds the mind's imagining, ( k ) 
Though it would soar for ever on the wing, 
To reach a Kepler's, Newton's height ! — 'tis vain : 
Yet some will dream of a perpetual spring : 
These dreams perchance may please a vacant brain,, 

But in our sober mood are soon abandon'd with disdain ! 

L 



14G THE VIEW. 

XL. 

See Caesar baffled by a little state ! 
Such is the will of Him who doth command 
Empires to rise, decay, regenerate ; 
Who weigheth worlds as balls within His hand ; 
Whose wrath not Hell's fierce legions may withstand ; 
Who is enthroned in light, Ancient of Days ! 
The pure Intelligence, whose wisdom planned 
This universal frame. His be the praise ! 
Creatures of clay, to Him your loud thanksgivings raise ; 

XLI. 

The mind that well doth exercise its powers 
Shall to the perfect beauty be allied, (*) 
When, from this grosser frame released, it tower 
Above the reach of earth-born care or pride. 
Yet must it be through ages purified, 
Ere it can live near God's eternal throne ; 
Ere it can bask in glory's luminous tide ; 
That sun of suns, unmingled and alone, ( m ) 
Whose everlasting light on earth has never shone ! 



THE VIEW. 147 

XLII. 

The God-head dwells with thee^ thou blessed one, 

Cowper, though some deride thy pious song, 

Too pure for them : — the sun of genius shone 

On thy immortal mind, that scorn'd the throng 

Of busy triflers, as they moved along, 

Fretting themselves with brain-born dreams, that mar 

Man's proudest hopes : to thy sweet verse belong 

Those soothing strains, that bid the violent jar 

Of passions cease, and still the bosom's inward war ! 

XLIII. 

Oh, could I seek at length those happy Isles 
Where 'tis a sensual pleasure even to breathe ; 
Where Nature in her classic livery smiles, 
And gives to Byron's muse a deathless wreath ; 
Where youth is life, age slumbers into death ; 
Where bowers to meditation dear abound ; 
Where glow the heavens above, the flowers beneath ; 
Where every nook is consecrated ground ; 
And songs of other times float in the air around ! 

l 2 



148 THE VIEW. 

XLIV. 
Then might appear to me dear Liberty, 
(But in a dream,) — whole hosts before her driven : 
A sun-beam is her spear — she strikes, and see ( n ) 
Its touch consumeth like the burning levin — 
Or like a comet hurl'd to earth from heaven ! 
A fierce disdain is flashing from her eye. 
Thus look'd Apollo, when, asunder riven, 
The monster serpent writh'd in agony, 
Then all convulsed, at length expired with hideous cry ! 

XLV. 

She triumphs now ; a laureate band attend 
Her steps, while iEschylus awakes the lyre : 
Before her now the mighty masters bend : 
" A slave 's no man!" thus sings their Godlike Sire :* 
His strains the whole triumphant race inspire. 
O glorious sight ! — And is it all a dream ? 
No — no. Columbia has her souls of fire ; 
The dawning light of science there doth gleam, 
There Poets must arise, since Liberty 's the theme ! 

* Homer. 



NOTES ON " THE VIEW." 



( a ) This little Poem (if such it may be called) was 
written in the Autumn of the year 1818, during a tour 
through Switzerland and Italy. 



( b ) Light as the young chamois. 

The chamois is an animal remarkable for its activity in 
scouring along the craggy rocks, and in leaping over the 
precipices. It is a species of antelope, though Linnaeus 
has classed it in the goat genus under the name of rupi- 
capra or mountain-goat. — Coxe's Travels in Switzerland, 
Vol. I., Letter 29, Page 342-44, 



( c ) But , gloomy Calvin, how couldst thou prevail ? 

Calvin was born at Noyon, in Picardy, in the year 1509. 
He first studied the Civil Law : afterwards retiring to Basil > 



150 NOTES ON "THE VIEW." 



he turned his thoughts to the study of Divinity, and pub- 
lished there his Institutions, which he dedicated to Fran- 
cis I. He was made Professor of Divinity at Geneva, A.D. 
1536. The year following he prevailed with the people to 
subscribe a confession of faith, and to renounce the Pope's 
authority ; but, carrying the matter a little farther than 
was agreeable to the Government, he was obliged to retire 
from Geneva, upon which he set up a French church at 
Strasburgh, in Germany, and was himself the first minister 
of it. But the town of Geneva inviting him to return, he 
came back thither in September 1541. The first thing he 
did was to settle a form of discipline and consistorial j uris- 
diction, and he gained himself many enemies by his inflex- 
ible severity in maintaining the rights and jurisdiction of 
his consistory. He was a person of great parts, indefati- 
gable industry, and considerable learning. He died in the 
fifty-sixth year of his age, in 1594. — Boughtons Dictionary, 
article Calvinists. 






( d ) What, tho'her thoughts were somewhat too refined. 

I allude to Madame de Stael ; but more particularly to 
the Third Volume of her u Allemagne," and to her philo- 
sophical works. Her last ( Considerations sur les Prin- 
cipauoc Evenemens de la Revolution Francoise) has no 
theoretical refinements whatever. Her language is sober 
and correct, though sufficiently energetic ; and her ideas, 
if I may so express myself, quite English. 



NOTES ON '-THE VIEW.' 9 lol 

( e ) Had man no other duties. 

a I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unex- 
ercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees its 
adversary ; but slinks out of the race, where that immortal 
garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat."— Mil- 
ton's Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing. 



( f ) What are its natives now, but imps from hell 
Peopling a Paradise ? 

This is the character an Italian gave me of his own coun- 
trymen. All are not such, however* Italy, trampled upon 
and degraded, still may possess many men of virtue and 
spirit; but, in the present state of things, what can they do 
towards ameliorating the condition of their countrymen ? 
" The victim by turns, of selfish and sanguinary factions, 
of petty tyrants, and of foreign invaders, Italy has fallen, 
like a star from its place in heaven ; she has seen her har- 
vests trodden down by the horses of the stranger, and the 
blood of her children wasted in quarrels not their own : 
Conquering or conquered, in the indignant language of her 
poet, still alike a slave ; a long retribution for the tyranny 
of Etome.' ? — Hallams View of the State of Europe during 
the Middle Ages, Vol. I. Page 255, 



(k) Be what ye were in ages past again , brave Milanese. 
The efforts which the Milanese made to resist the tyranny 



152 NOTES ON "THE VIEW." 

of Frederic Barbarossa, may rival the noblest exertions 
of the Spartans or the Athenians. — See Sismondi Histoire 
des Republiques ltaliennes du Moyen Age, Tome ii. passim, 



( h ) And he who mid dark cypresses and urns. 
Ugo Foscolo. See his u Carmede Sepolchri" and his 
" Lett ere di Jacopo Or Us" 



Q) On Chimborazo's height to breathe keen air. 

iC Thus, on the shore of the South Sea, after the long 
rains of winter, when the transparency of the air has sud- 
denly increased, we see Chimborazo appear like a cloud at 
the horizon ; it detaches itself from the neighbouring sum- 
mits, and towei*s over the whole chain of the Andes, like 
that majestic dome produced by the genius of Michael 
Angelo over the antique monuments which surround the 
Capitol/' — Humboldt's Researches, Vol. I. 



( k ) Far far exceeds the mind's imagining. 

:t But, gracious God, how well dost thou provide 
For erring judgments an unerring guide ! 
Thy Throne is darkness in th' abyss of light, 
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight."— Dryden, 



NOTES ON « THE VIEW." 153 

(!) Shall to the perfect beauty be allied. 
The first fair, and pulchritude itself." — St. Cyril. 



( m ) That sun of suns, unming led and alone. 
O luce eterna, chesolain te sidi." — Dante, 



( n ) A sun-beam is her spear — she strikes, and see. 

Chatterton has given this all-piercing weapon to Power. 

" Power wythe his heafod straught unto the skyes, 
Hys speere a sonne-bearae, and hys sheelde a starre." 

Chorus to Goddwyn, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



INVITATION 



TO 



THE BANKS OF THE AVON. 



This is the balmy breathing- time of spring, 
All Nature smiles, and Mirth is on the wing; 
The sun is shining on this lovely scene, 
Gladd'ning with light the meadow's tender green, 
Studding the waters with its lustrous gems, 
More brilliant than ten thousand diadems. 
Beautiful Avon ! — how can I pourtray 
Thy varied charms, where'er thou wind'st thy way? 
Now through the sunny meads, — now in the glade 
Thou sleep'st, beneath the wood's o'er-arching shade. 
The " sedge-crown'd" Naiads, from their cool retreats. 
Welcome my loved one, with their gather'd sweets. — 



158 INVITATION TO THE 

We cull'd these flowers at break of day. 

Take, oh, take them, lady fair ; 
Fresh in the light of the morning ray, 
They glisten on thy nut-brown hair, 
Merrily, merrily in the trees. 
The birds are merrily singing — 
While rose-buds are opening, 
And fruit-trees are blossoming. 
How clear — how musical 
Is yonder water-fall ! — 
Oh, God ! how glorious is the genial ray 
That issues from thy " Light of lights," to-day! 

Now seek we, my love, yon green-flourishing wood, 
That long in theatric luxuriance has stood, 
Where paths intersect its dank moss-cover'd steep, 
And above "s a turf gallery ample and deep. 
Their temples with ivy and oak-apples crown'd, 
See, the wood-nymphs advance, now they all dance 
around ; 



BANKS OF THE AVON. 159 

Their leafy adornments now rustle and play 

With their light limbs as briskly they foot it away : 

Come— beneath yon bowering tree 

We 've prepared a couch for thee ; 

Such a couch was never seen 

Even by our chaste-eye'd queen ; 

Dione never laid her head 

On such a spring-embellish'd bed, 

Nor Galatea's bosom heaved 

Beneath a beech more richly leaved.— 

We have rifled of their flowers 

All the many-colour'd bowers, 

Sweet to us are thy beauties rare," 

But sweeter the scent of vernal air ; 

Sweet is Cytherea's breath, 

But fresher far is Flora's wreath. 

Thy voice, like the harp of Arion, may please, 
But give us the murmuring hum of the bees, 



160 INVITATION TO THE 

By Pan, thou art a sylvan fairy> 
As light, as elegant, as airy ; 
With thy tresses loosely flowing, 
And thy well- turn' d ankles showing. 
Now we place a leafy vest 
O'er thy " gently-budding" breast ; 
While virgins bring their coronets 
Of pearls, and blue-vein'd violets, 
Showering flowers as is most meet, 
Before thy neatly-sandall'd feet ; 
And fragrance-breathing zephyrs bless 
Thy cheeks with passing freshness. 

. 'Xis night ! 

And Shakspeare, near this river, gazed upon 

The lovely moon, that now as softly smiles 

Upon the stream, as if Endymion 

Was bathing there ; — Shakspeare, the kindest, best 

Of casuists, who knew humanity, 

Nor deem'd the gravest the elect of Heaven ! — 



BANKS OF THE AVON. 161 

See, there 's " high-graced" Oberon, 

Prince of fairy land, 
A moving throne he sits upon, 

The sceptre's in his hand. 
All-glorious his attire, 

With jewels powder'd o'er; 
Each with his silver lyre, 

The minstrels go before : — 
As dazzling in their cars, 
As numerous, as stars 
That in Cumana's clime 
Fall by thousands at a time ; 
With their winglets as profuse 
As the humming-bird's of hues ; 
The light-encircled queen 
Now trips along the green ; 
As beauteous as the rose, 
Which white lilies enclose. 



M 



ODE 

ON THE LAMENTED DEATH 



OF THE 



PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES AND 
SAXE COBOURG. 



Ta pkv tear' olkovs £<p' eVias axn 

Tao° 4ri, kcu t£v& vTrepfBarwTepa 

To (tiav 8' a<£>' 'EAAaSos alas ffwop/Aeyois 

Tlevdeia T\ir\<nKdp§ios 

AofJLccv e/carou apere*. 

JEschyl. Jgamem. 



Now all was quiet and serene, 

Hope's morning star on earth was seen, 

Its light our bosoms cheer' d : 
Then, then, the hurricane arose, 
The dreadful tempest of our woes, 

And nought but gloom appear'd. 



PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. 163 

The festal song is o'er — 

The voice of mirth no more 

Is heard throughout the land : 
With quivering lips and pale, 
The young and old bewail 

The Almighty's dread command ! 

Grim death ! oh what a blow thou gav'st us here ! 
The thought is ev'n too bitter for a tear ; 
It spreads a gloom that never will depart, 
A settled thunder-cloud around the heart. 

And she is nothingness, who late 
With joy, and hope, and love elate, 

A fairy vision seem'd ! 
She realized those pleasures known 
To few, to none who wear a crown, 

Nor ev'n of sorrow dream' d. 
But who can paint that dreadful grief 
That asks not, wishes not relief? 
m 2 



164 ODE ON THE DEATH OF 

The fierce, unutterable anguish, 

That shuddering pity must conceal : 
It gnaws within her widow'd consort's breast, 
(Ah ! happy once, with smiling pleasures blest !) 
And will not through exhaustion languish- 
Oh ! who would this reveal ? 

Was it for this that Hymen join'd their hands, 
Amid a people's shouts, in rosy bands, 
That when with loyal hopes all hearts were gay, 
His lovely bride should thus be torn away ? 

We hoped to hear the merry bells : 

Alas ! they're changed to funeral knells; 

Heard ye the solemn sound ? 

Again it tolls — the bell profound. 

Would it were fancy ! but she's gone — 
The truest, dearest, loveliest one 
That e'er a nation's wishes bless'd 
That e'er a husband's love possess'd ; 



THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. \&> 

Friend to the poor, the fatherless, 
Friend to all virtue in distress ! 

But wherefore grieve we so ? 

There's selfishness in woe. 

Angels of love, with gratulations high, 
Welcome their sister-spirit to the sky: 
O ever-living bride ! all beauteous sprite ! 
With them thou dwell'st in everlasting light. 
Not her's the glare of royalty — 
The pride, or pomp of place ; 
But mild, domestic charity, 
And every winning grace. 

Yet death has dimm'd the lustre of her eyes ; 
In lifeless loveliness his victim lies ; 
Britannia, frantic, clasps her favourite's urn ; 
Wit, Virtue, Beauty, for their darling mourn. 
But through the royal house, 
No loud laments arise : 



166 ODE ON THE DEATH OF 

Silence that loathes repose 

There stalks with tearful eyes, 

Ne'er may our querulous complaints intrude 
On the lone mourner's sacred solitude : 

The flower is broken from its stem, 

The ring has lost its only gem : 
Oh ! princely Claremont, wither'd be thy bowers ; 
Cold is the hand that cull'd thy fairest flowers : 

Like them, in bloom of youth she died ! 

Go, tell it to the house of pride — • 

Mock the self-loving fair — 
Go, whisper in the ear of kings, 
(While death aside the curtain flings 

And shows his victim there, 
Cold, voiceless, joyless, motionless — ) 
How vain is human happiness ! 

Away, away! it is not meet 

To view her in her winding-sheet : 



THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. 167 

I see her on her sapphire throne, 

A circling halo is her crown ; 
A halo of eternal light : 

How mild her features seem, and yet how heavenly 
bright I 



LINES 

TO THE MEMORY OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CANOVA. 






Where is he now ? an awful question ! where ? 
^Nlid spirits glorified in realms of light, 
Viewing angelic shapes more dazzling there, 
Than those which gave him while on earth delight : 
Such as appear'd unto his mental sight, 
When he would dare create, what Art alone 
Like his could realize, a goddess bright, 
A Hebe, or a Grace without her zone, 
Or all that poets dream of Beauty's queen, in stone. 



LINES ON CANOVA. 160 

II. 
Whate'er of beautiful, high-minded Greece 
Imagined, from Canova's chisel sprung : 
And must that master-hand for ever cease 
To mould those forms so graceful and so young, 
In praise of which the mystic bards have sung ? 
Those forms, o'er which ideal loveliness 
Is, as it were, by touch ethereal flung ! 
That hand, which in cold marble could express 

All-perfect beauty, youth, eternal happiness ! 

in. 
His delicate Hebe almost seems to move : 
So light thy step, fair daughter of the skies ! 
Thou art the gentle power that waits on Jove : 
Thou art the flower of youth that never dies. 
Sure 'tis a spirit that delights our eyes ! 
But Pysche, a celestial lover's pride, 
With her sweet rival in proportion vies ; 
While beaming, like a twin-star at her side, 

Cupid, as finely wrought, clasps his life-giving bride. 



170 LINES ON CANOVA. 

IV. 
O ! 'tis a super-human skill that turns 
To being such creations of the brain 
As the fond worshipper of fancy burns 
To paint in glowing colours, but in vain. 
Look on these breathing marbles — look again — ■ 
They are the visions of our youth brought forth, 
Though motionless, yet beautiful ! no stain 
Sullies their charms ; they are not of this earth, 

But pure,as when the bards' conceptions gave them birth. 

v. 
How o'er the sculptor's manly features play'd 
The light of genius, as with modest zeal 
He spoke of those immortal works survey'd 
By him, with raptures such as he must feel 
To whom Art loves her secrets to reveal. 
The Phidian fragments ! in decay sublime, 
Whence Art gives laws 'gainst which there's no appeal. 
Such were man's labours in the olden time, 

When freedom quicken'd thought, and a soul-waken- 
ing clime. 



LINES ON CANOVA. 171 

VI. 
Yet in Canova's mind were nursed those fine 
Imaginings, that, but by few possest, 
We call, adoring their results, divine ; 
Since those who have them are indeed most blest 
Of mortal beings, far above the rest. 
The poetry of sculpture must be caught 
From Heaven : it gives a feeling unexprest 
When bodied forth, to those by Art untaught : 
'Tis an ambrosial flame — the very soul of thought. 

December, 1822. 



VERSES 
ON NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 



" Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols : the 
worms are spread under thee, and the worms cover thee ; — 

How art thou cut down to the ground, which did weaken the nations!" 

Isaiah. 

He whom plumed victory placed upon her throne, 

The despot lord of Europe, he is gone ! 

Whose power, whene'er its death-flag was unfurl' d, 

Breathed out destruction o'er a trembling world : 

All irresistible, it seem'd to bind, 

As with a magic spell, th' o'ermaster'd mind. 

Cradled amid the storms of war, the child 

Of anarchy fought well, and fortune smiled. 

The consul would be emperor, inthroned 

He play'd the tyrant ; France obey'd, and groan'd. 



VERSES ON NAPOLEON. 173 

Ambitious self-destroyer ! grasping all, 

'Till nations burst indignant from their thrall ; 

'Till the insulted master of the North 

Awoke, and sent his hardy legions forth. 

The mighty warrior flies, his men are lost, 

Their strength avails not 'gainst a Scythian frost. 

Baffled ambition scorns to feel : he eyed 

Their stiffening corpses with a sullen pride, 

Cursing his fallen star, that rose again 

Terrific to his foes, and not in vain ; 

'Till England with her lion-banner's might 

Check'd the imperial eagle's second flight. 

What were his feelings when an exile, far 
From his once glorious theatre of war ? 
Fame, conquest, empire vanishing — what left ? 
Life : but of all that gave him life bereft. 
Unpitied, since he laugh'd at others' woe, 
And hated as an unrelenting foe. 



174 VERSES ON 

With him were feasible, so vast his schemes, 
Such plans as please a madman in his dreams. 
As a high- crested dragon with his wings 
Beats foemen down, he smote the pride of kings. 
Self was his idol, self; 'twas nought to him 
If thousands fell, so he might please his whim. 

Was he a spirit sent to scourge mankind 
For vice ? to dazzle them till they were blind ? 
As potent as the magic shield of old,* 
Withering the strength of all who dared behold. 

He hated converse : his o'erweening pride 
Taught him man's social pleasures to deride : 
Men were his instruments, and he could have 
Nothing in common with them but a grave. 
As wave succeeding wave breaks on the shore, 
Tyrants o'erleap their bounds and are no more. 

* This wonderful shield belonged to Atlante, but afterwards 
was possessed by Ruggiero See Ariosto, Canto 2. 



NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 175 

His course was rapid, he has pass'd away, 
In time's vast book a tale of yesterday ; 
And he who held the proudest kings in awe 
Of his imperious will, to them a law, 
Now lies alone in a far distant isle ! 
Well might philosophy at grandeur smile. 

The ill Napoleon did we all well know, 
Each day the good he might have done, will show. 
Through him Italia might again have been 
Renown'd in arms as she 's of arts the queen ; 
Nor would the Austrian fox have dared by stealth 
To snatch, though now he rudely takes her wealth. 
The cloud of selfishness will ne'er decrease 
That glooms the prospect of a lasting peace, 
'Till Christian kings the Christian maxim heed : 
God never doom'd mankind to crouch and bleed. 



OX THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 



Bat thou art fled 

Like some frail exhalation which the dawn 

Robes in its golden beams ; ah, thou hast fled, 

The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful! 

The child of grace and beauty. 

Shelley. 



Thy wooded hills, Firenze, castle crown d, 
In beautiful luxuriance rise around : 
What sweetly-blended hues enchant the sight 
As the sun 'gins to soften down his light ! 
On houses, olives, vineyards, crags, he glows, 
All Nature woos him as he smiles repose. 
The purple-coloured Apennines appear 
Like fairy-mountains painted in the air : 
While o'er the fertile vale, where Arno flows, 
The queen of beauty's sacred myrtle grows. 



ON A FRIEND'S DEATH. 177 

O ! what is love by poets deified, 
Compared with friendship in all dangers tried ? 
Gonzalvo to his Lara could not be 
A firmer friend than Henry was to me. 
Could not this balmy clime restore his health, 
Where Nature boon has lavish' d all her wealth ? 
Alas ! Consumption gives a sickly hue 
To wood-crown'd hills, rich vales, and skies of deepest 
blue. 

Busy Remembrance ! why call up in vain 
Those happy nights, that ne'er will come again, 
When in our mock-debates young Henry's mind 
Show'd a ripe judgment, and a taste refined ! 

Florence, October 2. 



WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 



AT 



CHAMOUNI. 



Though I might visit scenes which show 

The littleness of pride ; 
Mountains whose heights, o'ertopped with snow, 

Man's venturous foot deride ; 
Though on the master-works of art 

Intensely I might gaze, 
'Till words do but express in part 

The fulness of amaze ; 
Or as o'er ashes of the mighty dead, 
With mixed belief and doubtfulness, I tread, — 

Still, England, still my mind will dwell 

On thee, and those I love as well ! 



TO MY INFANT CHILD. 



Sleep, my sweet child, within thy mother's arms, 
And Heaven protect thy future years from harms ! 
From throngs of passions that assail the best : 
From friendship violated ; love unblest ; 
From fashion's honours purchased at the price 
Of health, vain honours, oft allied to vice. 

Sleep on, sweet Julia, at thy mother's breast ; 
Thy proper nurse is watching o'er thy rest : 
She gazes on thee with an anxious eye, 
And meditates thy future destiny. 
On earthly things have angels ever smiled? 
On one— the mother bending o'er her child. 

n 2 



180 TO AN INFANT CHILD. 

Rich is the flower's perfume, sweet girl, to thee ; 
Richer in fragrance shall the musk-rose be, 
When the young world may open to thy view, 
And nature's charms, too soon forgot, are new. 
Long be thy mother's fair attractions thine ; 
To talent, sense — to beauty, virtue join ; 
To unaffected sprightliness add ease ;- — 
Coquettes may smile, but these will ever please. 

Great Spirit of the universe, protect 
This child, and may she ne'er thy works neglect ; 
But trace in lowliest weeds thy hand divine, 
As true, as in yon glorious orbs that shine. 



TO THE MEMORY OF COLLINS. 



Great Bard, to thee belong 

The spirits of the mystic song. 

Thou hast found, 'bove all thy race, 

Sweet Poesy's most hallow'd place : 

Where sunbright beings, veil'd from sight. 

To thee alone reveal their light. 

In fancy's cell, in midnight storm, 

Each passion has its proper form. 

Glaring amid the gloom of night, 

The foaming flood gave thee delight ; 

But ah ! the softness of thy lay, 

Is mild as summer-close of day, 

When o'er Fidele's grassy tomb 

Thou scatterest flowers of earliest bloom. 



182 TO THE MEMORY OF COLLINS. 

Xo self- complaint thy mind reveals. 
But solely for another feels : 
Though it has suffer'd deep distress, 
How exquisite its tenderness ! 
Since pity, peace, and mercy, seem, 
In sooth, to be thy frequent theme ; 
And love, that royal shepherds know, 
In climes where brighter suns do glow. 

Bard of the East ! a poet sweet 
As thee, we ne'er again may greet. 
Where does thy gentle spright abide 
All-seeing fancy by its side ? 
Where sky-born forms are flitting near. 
To charm it through " th' eternal year; 



NOTHING. 



" Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men's minds, vain 
opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as 'one would,' and 
the like, but it would leave the minds of a number of men, poor shrunken 
things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves V s 

Bacon. 



What wild ambitious schemes 

The ripen'd man engage ? 
To love's delusive dreams 

Succeed the plans of age. 
The smiles of beauty lose 

Their sweet attractive power, 
And Pleasure vainly woos 

The statesman to her bower. 
Youth, manhood, and old age, have each their vice, 
First lust, ambition next, then avarice. 



184 NOTHING. 

Some mount on high like rockets, 

That blaze, then die away ; 
And folly loves to mock its 
Votaries for a day. 
Or Juans, or Napoleons, 'tis the same — 
The slaves of passion are the fools to fame. 

" To-morrow and to-morrow" 

Have momentary joys ; 
Men never think that sorrow 
Can rob them of their toys. 
Or death — they heedless hear the passing bell ; 
Where be his fond conceits for whom it tolls a knell ? 



VERSES 

WRITTEN IN STONELEIGH PARK, 



The rudest trunk by Nature's hand that 's wrought, 

May teach us more than ever sage has taught : 

Ye patriarchal oaks, that mock the span 

Of man's existence — (miserable man!) 

Ye teach me this, that even in decay 

Ye thrive, when the proud mind is worn away. 

Ye richly-foliaged woods, that seem but one, 
Girding yon uplands with your emerald zone, 
Ye tell me, there 's analogy between 
Youth's liveliness, and your most cheerful green. 
When the light plays upon your leaves, we glow 
Witb inward joy ourselves ; I feel it now. 



186 VERSES, &c. 

When sombre shades the brightest hues displace. 
Steals o'er our hearts their " melancholy grace." 
Tis the bard's golden chain that seems to bind 
Nature's best energies with those of mind ; 
For when Creation's wonder-works we see, 
We feel within us the Divinity ! 
Whence springs this holy feeling ? from delight 
In looking up to God through works so bright ! 

Here might Zeluco for a moment feel 
(But for a moment) a religious zeal. 
Thus Satan gazed on Paradise awhile, 
And half forgot his hate, revenge, and guile* 



LINES WRITTEN AT ROME, 



We need not fear, in these enlightened times, 

Hildebrand's power, or Alexander's crimes : 

Or that fierce Pope,* unspiritual lord 

Of Roman faith, who grasp'd the temporal sword. 

But here is Superstition's last strong hold : 

Still here, release from Purgatory 's sold ; 

And here the women, pious in their way, 

At noon read Casti,t though at eve they pray : 

How eloquent their looks ; beneath the lashes 

Of their dark eyes the soul of passion flashes ! 

m 
* Julius II. 

■j- Cast i, a profligate writer, author of certain " Nouvelle," 

as Forsyth says, " too excellently wicked." 



188 LINES WRITTEN AT ROME. 

Alternately they read their prayers, and paint 
Now woo a lover, now invoke a saint ! 
Such are the Portias, the Cornelias, now, 
So well is heeded here the marriage vow. 

November, 1818. 



TO THE REV. W. W. 
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF HIS DAUGHTER, 



This is indeed to all a lovely morn : 
But chief to thee, for on this day was born 
Thy lovely daughter, lovelier with a mind, 
O think I flatter not, how pure, refined ! 
Pure as the dreams of holiest saints, and mild 
As the soft slumbers of an infant child. 
Yet 'tis possest of wisdom, wit, and sense : 
Her eyes beam forth that mind's intelligence. 
Thy smiles paternal, faintly tell us now 
What genuine raptures in thy bosom glow. 
The fulness of delight is scarce exprest 
By words ; we only see that thou art blest. 



DIVES LOQUITUR. 

IN IMITATION OF A GREAT POET. 



"Ecce iterum Crispinus." 

I. 

Had I the wit of Newstead's noble bard, 
I 'd sacrifice it all, again to be 
The child I was, when on that smooth green sward 
I drove my hoop along with mickle glee, 
Or climb'd, with eager haste, yon cherry-tree. 
Happy are they who need not e'er regret 
The long-past days of careless infancy ; 
Whom friends have ne'er betray' d, nor knaves beset. 
Who never have been caught in woman's subtle net. 






DIVES LOQUITUR. 191 

II. 
Of this enough, — the storm has ceased to rage ; 
1 live — but how, it matters not, — I live — 
" All, all is vanity" — thus spoke the sage : 
Yet there remains one pleasure — 'tis to give. 
With some, 'tis pouring water through a sieve : 
An endless folly, an excessive waste : 
To feed their drones, these lordlings rob the hive ; 
They waste their wealth on fools or dames unchaste ; 

Or gems, or jewels rare — these children "have a taste." 

in. 
Dives had feasts at home, and many came 
To see the strange inventions of the night ; 
Minstrels were in his halls, resembling flame — 
The colour of their robes was e'en as bright ; 
Ladies were clad in silk, all lily white, 
While Burgundy, from golden goblets pour'd, 
Freshen'd the heart of man with new delight, 
And boon companions gather'd round his board, 

Pledging the frequent health of their all-liberal lord. 



192 DIVES LOQUITUR. 

IV. 

But what is Dives now ? — a misanthrope — 
A snarling cynic, basking in the sun : 
O'ercharged with lust, he gave his passion scope ; 
A self-tormentor, now his course is run, 
Mingling with fellow men, yet loving none. 
Divine Charissa calls on him in vain — 
" Thoughfools haverobb'd thee, do not therefore shun 
The sad retreat of penury and pain." 

Sullen he stalks apart, and eyes her with disdain. 

v. 
" What wert thou born for, denizen of earth? 
To laugh and grieve as suits thy wayward will ? 
Scoffer — the soul will have a second birth ; — 
Awake the song — the sparkling goblet fill — 
Drown, in thy wine, all thoughts of future ill. 
There is another world !" " Then be it so — 
Of this already, have I had my fill !" — 
" This will not save thee — this fantastic woe : 

Thou knowest not, wretched man, where thou art 
doom'd to go !" 









LINES 

WRITTEN ON SEEING THE BODIES OF TWO BEAUTIFUL 
WOMEN, CAST AWAY NEAR MILFORD. 

(IN IMITATION OF COLERIDGE.) 



A dreary waste of snows around 
O'er-spread th' inhospitable ground ; — 
The storm-blast scarce had ceased to roar, 
There lay two corpses on the shore. 
Thou, pamper'd lecher, come and see 
These shapes, so oft embraced by thee : — 
What — does it shame thee ? — look again — 
These were once women, ay, and vain ; 
Rock-bruised and mangled now, they seem 
More horrid than a ghastly dream. 



194 IMITATION OF COLERIDGE. 

Now kiss their livid lips, and bless 
Their fragrant stench, sweet rottenness. 
The gay gold rings bemock their fingers, 
Where not one trait of beauty lingers ; 
But, like the shrivell'd star-fish, lie 
Their hands in sand, all witheringly. 
We start to see this loathsome clay, 
Uncofiin'd, rotting fast away ; 
Yet, we can bear the noisome pest, 
Vice, gathering, black'ning in the breast. 



TRUE LOVE. 



i. 
'Tis sweet on Truth's high vantage-ground to stand 
And gaze on men below, in mazes lost 
Of error ; sweet it is to break the wand 
Of juggling Comus, battling 'gainst a host 
Of frightful passions ; or when tempest-tost 
To reach, by unexpected chance, the port ; 
Sweet 'tis to have a Claude though much it cost ; 
Sweet to the honest heart's the rustic's sport ; 
Sweetest is woman's love when 'tis of good report, 

o2 



196 



TRUE LOVE. 



To share each other's joys, to live indeed 
In our own little world of happiness, 
With interchange of thought as time may need ; 
To brighten fancy; make our troubles less; 
To give and to return the kind caress ; 
To visit distant realms, not both unknown ; 
To be each other's help-mates in distress ; 
To laugh through mutual aid at fortune's frown ; 
Such were a bliss, indeed, which few can call their own 









y^K\ i 



ENGLAND. 

. 



i. 

What are Helvetia's woods, Ausonia's bowers, 
Compared with England's home-attractions ? Rove 
Where'er we may, we waste away those hours 
That sure were better spent with friends we love. 
Such as the royal casuist ( a ) might approve. 
But England has her beauties, her green fields ; 
Her rising grounds o'ertopp'd with many a grove ; 
The wealth her land so prodigally yields, 
That yet from violent hands the arm of justice shields, 



198 ENGLAND. 

II. 
And thou, Charissa, with thy smiling train 
Of infants, in this island art renown'd ; 
Let others sing the dark-eyed maids of Spain, ( b ) 
Here beauty's modest gracefulness is found ; 
Here love domestic is by valour crown' d : 
Ah ! happy isle, where Faction vainly roars : 
Her wild war-cry we heed not ; we are sound : 
With flag reversed, rebellion quits our shores. 

And peace exulting smiles, and virtue God adores. 

in. 
" Whatever is, is best : J " the blasts from hell 
Of irreligion cannot shake the tree 
Of knowledge, that in our blest isle has well 
Driv'n deep its roots ; the true philosophy 
Is Christian faith, from superstition free. 
England of Heaven asks no miraculous voice 
To silence foul-mouth/ d infidelity. 
No ! in the gospel-truths her sons rejoice : 

That worship must be pure, where reason points the 
choice. 



ENGLAND. 199 

IV. 

What mighty minds have here conjointly raised 
An altar to their Maker ; there up-piled 
The gifts of truth and eloquence amazed 
Surrounding nations ; gentle as a child 
Was Newton, Cowper as a seraph mild ! 
Yet were they champions of the faith, and kept 
The ark of their religion undefiled. 
Here never has Devotion's genius slept, 
Nor o'er her broken fanes meek Piety has wept. 

v. 
Those who do fear it, always hate the light. 
Let man but know his duties, he pursues 
His proper good ; 'tis only in the night 
Of ignorance, that uncertain are his views, 
That ( c ) Cleons his most credulous heart abuse. 
But learning's like Ithuriel's spear, and shows 
Impostures stripp'd of all their borrow'd hues. 
What is the fruitful source of human woe ? 
The fear lest men become too wise the more they know. 



200 . ENGLAND. 

VI. 

Vain fear ! before Religion's rising sun 
The fogs of Superstition break away. 
Let sophists to the den of error run 
And hide them from the intellectual ray 
That this " best sun" sheds forth on us to-day. 
Though tyrants dread opinion, 'tis the base 
Of every government, its only stay. 
Good God ! what crimes the moral world disgrace, ( d ) 
When prejudice would drive right reason from its place! 

VII. 

Are not the gifts of eloquence and wealth, 
Beauty and talent, easily abused ? 
Thus into minds not guarded well, by stealth 
The poison of false doctrine is infused. 
E'en freedom has been, often is, misused ! 
Yet by instruction man is raised here 
High in the scale of being, not amused 
With grovelling joys, but panting for a sphere 
Where mind shall live with mind through Heaven's 
" eternal year." 



ENGLAND. 201 

VIII. 

As rushing whirlwinds 'mid the stagnant air, ( e ) 
In eastern climates, suddenly arise — 
Thus slaves whom passions prompt, or fell despair, 
Rush on their despot-master. Lo ! he dies. 
How weak the state which terror guards, or lies ! 
But when fair mercy, justice, truth support 
The throne, let statesmen ope the people's eyes; 
Their knowledge is as an unshaken fort 
To which 'gainst all attacks the monarch might resort. 

IX. 

Let others fashion works that charm the eye 
And please the moral taste ; we cannot strive 
In these with Greece and Italy to vie — 
We teach the master-science how to live. 
Long may our dear, dear country's glories thrive ; 
May never pestilence consume her strength; may God 
Far, far away domestic discord drive : 
But, must we bow beneath his chastening rod, 
Ne'er may the rebel's bones rest 'neaih his father 's sod. 



NOTES ON f - ENGLAND. 



( a ) Such as the royal casuist might approve. 

Hamlet. — Give me the man that is not passion's slave, 
and I will wear him in my heart's core; ay, in my heart of 
hearts, as I do thee. — Shakspeare. 



( b ) Let others sing the dark-eyed maids of Spain. 
See Lord Byron's Childe Harold, Canto the First. 



( c ) That Cleons his most credulous heart abuse. 
Cleon was the low demagogue of Athens — See Thucyd. 



lib. 3. 



( d ) Good God! what crimes the moral world disgrace. 

L'Auteur du Raoud-ai-rakhiar rapporte que Mahomet a 
predit que son peuple ou sa religion periroit par deux choses, 
par Tignorance et par Pavarice. D'Herbelot, article, Gehel. 



NOTES ON ENGLAND. 203 

( e ) As rushing whirlwinds mid the stagnant air. 

If we have any doubt of the dreadful evils arising from 
the ignorance of the people, let us turn to the page of his- 
tory, let us look to the crusade against the unoffending Al- 
bigenses, the convulsions that happened at Paris (equalled 
only in atrocity by the enormities of the late Revolution,) 
during the unhappy reign of Charles VI. to the private 
wars, and deadly feuds that, during the middle ages, deso- 
lated Germany and Scotland, and then (unless we are 
bigots, or knaves,) we shall be convinced of the necessity 
of enlightening the people. It is the Cardinal de Retz who 
says, that the lower orders are suspicious. They are so, 
indeed, since they have always been deceived ! c( Is the 
limit of human wisdom to be estimated in the science of 
politics alone by the extent of its present attainments ? Is 
the most sublime and difficult of all arts, the improve- 
ment of the social order, the alleviation of the miseries of 
the civil condition of man, to be alone stationary, amid the 
rapid progress of every art, liberal and vulgar, to perfec- 
tion?" " The convictions of philosophy insinuate them- 
selves by a slow, but certain progress into popular senti- 
ment. It is vain for the arrogance of learning to condemn 
the people to ignorance, by reprobating superficial know- 
ledge. The people cannot be profound; but the truths 
which regulate the moral and political relations of man are 
at no great distance from the surface." — Mackintosh's Vin- 
dicice Gallicce,^. 110-123. 



STEEPHIXJL 



Und azzled now by fashion's meteor-blaze, 

The quiet joys of life I '11 learn to praise ; 

With Waller dwell mid myrtle shades, or find, 

With Wordsworth, mighty spirits in the wind. 

Oh ! 'tis a glorious privilege to be 

The child of nature, and her charms to see : 

Yon isle-engirting ocean, and the sky 

O'er the green waves a cloudless canopy : 

The stars by night, the fiery-wheeled throne 

By day, its after-splendours, when 'tis gone ; 

The jutting cliffs, the winding shores, the caves 

Hollow' d within the rocks by frequent waves ; 

Vast in themselves, yet magnified by thought, 

(Compared with these, man's noblest works are nought;) 

The rock-embosom'd underwood that creeps, 

Rich with autumnal colours, up the steeps. 



STEEPHlLLu 205 

And many have been wanderers here, who now 
Live with their God ! from yonder mountain's brow 
They gazed upon the rising sun, that cheer'd 
Nature and them ; they now have disappear'd ! 
But, near the fountain's self of heavenly light, 
Gaze on more splendid scenes with more intense delight. 
There all those hopes they cherish'd while on earth 
Are realized, — how pure man's second birth ! 
They, by the living waters evermore, 
Seeing and knowing all things, God adore. 
We tread the same dull round from year to year ; 
Though the scene shifts, the actors re-appear, 
Dull in each other's eyes, press on, and die, 
With " Vive la bagatelle /" the expiring cry, 

Here, shelter'd from life's troublous storms, we roam, 
And store up many an anecdote for home ; 
Here feel that, unembarrass'd by the crowd, 
We may, inglorious idlers, think aloud ! 



EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES 

WRITTEN AT MIDDLETON, 

THE SEAT OF THE EARL OF JERSEY. 



For sure in all In' enchanted ground, 
Of Paradise, there are not found 
The fountain-brinks of Rocnabay, 
Mosella's bowers, with roses gay. 

Translation of Hajiz. 



The spoils of nations here collected, seem 
To realize an eastern poet's dream : 
Gold, gems, and ivory, with rich inlay, 
Urns, vases, books, magnificently gay, 
Embroider'd couches, golden lamps, and all 
That Pride would choose for Beauty's festival, 
With intermingling hues fatigue the sight, 
And " dazzle with their luxury of light." 
Nursed in the sunshine, orange trees unfold 
Their leaves of emerald, and their fruit of gold. 



EXTEMPORE LINES, 207 

Exotics fling their exquisite perfume, 

prom grand conservatories, through the room, 

Where sits the fair Sultana of the place, 

And to Zenobia's wealth adds Hebe's grace. 

The glorious day-god cheers (what could he less?) 

With vivid rays this seat of loveliness. 

April 17, 1820. 



PSEUDO-PATRIOTISM. 



How few there are who do deserve 
The Patriot's laurel-crown ; 

Who never from their duty swerve, 
Or lose their high renown. 

A traitor's name doth stain the fame 
Of Wallenstein the brave ; 

The honours which he could not claim 
Adorn his rival's grave.* 

Rienzi, thou didst promise well, 
But hast be tray' d thy trust ; 

Yet ! when the traitor-tribune fell, 
His death was surely just. 

* The great Gustavus Adolphus. 



STANZAS 

ADDRESSED TO THE SEA, 

WRITTEN IN AUGUST, 1824. 



The sea is like a silvery lake, 

And o'er its calm the vessel glides 

Gently, as if it feared to wake 
The slumber of the silent tides. 

Moore. 



I. 

Soft as a seraph's look, the calm blue sea 
Smiles with surpassing loveliness ; how dear 
This glorious element is to the free ! 
The spirit-stirring waves, now hush'd, appear 
With broken sunbeams, or suffused, or clear, 
Glassing the weeds fantastic — Nature's waste. 
Now ruffled by the rising breeze they near 
The shore, and course each other down in haste ! 
The bubbling cup of pleasure thus bemocks us while 
we taste. 

p 



210 STANZAS TO THE SEA. 

II. 
There's in our minds an overpowering sense 
Of grandeur, as we view the sea, that far 
Exceeds in depth those feelings, though intense, 
With which we contemplate the brightest star 
That heralds Cynthia in her full orb'd car. 
The sea, coeval with th' eternal past, 
While element with element waged war, 
Ere yet the pillars of the earth stood fast, 

Roll'd o'er the dark abyss immeasurably vast. 

in. 
Then light through darkness shot its vivid ray, 
Then waves subsided, mountains rose above ; 
Then splendid in his rising, as to-day, 
The God of gladness brighten'd hill and grove, 
And all Creation glow'd with roseate love. 
But chiefly the great Ocean, o'er whose face 
The spirit of its God began to move, 
While yet it bluster'd through unmeasured space, 

Gloried within its bounds to feel the sun's embrace. 



STANZAS TO THE SEA. 211 

IV, 
A varied mass of congregated cloud, 
Purple and blue and red, th' horizon round 
Floats o'er the waters, seemingly to shroud 
Some fairy Isle where beauteous fruits abound ; 
Where hills uprise by golden castles crown'd ; 
Whence elfin knights come forth in proud attire, 
And lovely fays, whose feet scarce touch the ground : 
But soon these beings of the brain expire, 

When the disparting clouds unveil a sea of fire. 

v. 
The sun is sinking fast, and now is gone 
The vaporous enchantment ; the wide main 
Reflects from clouds pavilioning the throne 
Of light, that still most beautiful remain, 
An orange hue, which to depict, 'twere vain ! 
These are faint shadows of those glorious sights 
Which we shall see, when free from grief or pain, 
We traverse planets where unbodied sprights 

For ever will enjoy ineffable delights. 

p2 



212 STANZAS TO THE SEA. 

VI. 
The Bard* of Asti view'd the sea, and wept, 
So strong were his emotions to behold 
Its might ; as yet his sun-like genius slept. 
'Till roused by call of passion uncontroird: 
Like to the lightning's flash which clouds unfold 
Amid a thunder-storm — through floods of tears 
It threw a momentary ray ; the bold 
Promise of splendour that in after years 
Blazed in his verse ; it still the sons of freedom cheers. 

VII, 

Home of the brave and free — for such thou art. 
Thou proudly-swelling Ocean ! how thy waves 
Delighted Athens once, whose lion-heart 
Despised the self-will'd tyrant's glittering slaves ! 
Baffled in all his hopes, Power vainly raves. 
Now like a giant rising after sleep 
Refresh' d, Colombia wakes to life, and braves 
Her late tyrannick mistress ; o'er the deep 
The sons of Commerce now fresh harvests hope to reap. 



* s 



ee Note page 215. 



STANZAS TO THE SEA. 213 

VIII. 

O'ershadow'd by monopoly's dark wings, 
Colombia languished long, but now no more — 
And many a vessel, richly-freighted, brings 
Her wealth triumphantly to Chili's shore ; 
Returning homewards with the wondrous store 
That nature in the country doth pour forth 
From her horn bursting with its fulness o'er ; 
Thus though proud kings unite from South and North, 
Freedom unshaken smiles, and vindicates her worth. 

IX. 

Thou vasty deep ! what treasures lie conceal'd 
Within thy caverns, coral-paved, below 
The plummet's reach, that ne'er shall be reveal'd 
'Till the dread Angel his last tromp shall blow, 
Then all will Nature's secret wonders know ; 
But they, beheld, must disappear, and melt 
Away with fervent heat, nor ebb, nor flow 
Of mighty waters shall be seen or felt : 
No vestige will remain of lands where man hath dwelt. 



214 STANZAS TO THE SEA. 

x. 

And shall this Ocean that compared might be 
(If aught the perishable world can have 
Liken'd unto it. ) with eternity. 
Be lost at once, as is a single wave 
That breaks upon the beach ? this greedy grave 
Of shatter'd navies, shall it ever cease 
To gorge its victims while fierce tempests rave ? 
Whate'er the great Creator wills, with ease 
He can perform ; build worlds, destroy them, if he please. 

XI. 

Heaven. Earth, and Ocean perish ; but the soul 
Survives, through ages after ages blest. 
Burning for knowledge, where new Planets roll 
Twill wing its flight : here oft by care deprest 
The mind for wisdom loses all its zest. 
But loosed from earth, all-seeing it will pass 
Through boundless space, or contemplate at rest 
Things which it darkly sees as through a glass : 
While ic cabin d. cribb'd. confined'' within its fleshly 
mass ! 



STANZAS TO THE SEA. 215 

XII. 

What other worlds interfluent among, 
Oceans may swell and roar, 'tis vain to think. 
Such themes befit not a poor mortal's song. 
Imagination leads us to the brink 
Of a vast precipice ; we well might shrink 
In gazing on the great obscure beneath. 
There all is fathomless — the closest link 
Of thought is broken by conjecture's breath, 
When mind attempts to soar above the depths of death! 

* Al fieri. — When this great poet first saw the sea, he could 
not describe the emotions which the sight of it excited in him, 
and therefore he gave vent to his feelings in tears. 



VERSES 

TO BERNARD BARTON. 



Unlike indeed the meteor light 

That dazzles to betray, 
Thou art a star to bless our sight, 

And lead us on our way. 

Mild are the breathings of thy lyre, 
Thou gentle Bard, yet strong 

Thy verse, whene'er thy " muse of fire' 
To Heaven directs her song. 

Thou hast not drunk, as others have, 
From pleasure's poison'd chalice ; 

Nor dost thou, misanthropic, rave 
Against imagined malice. 



TO BERNARD BARTON. 217 

How stainless thy poetic wreath ! 

How beautiful its hue ! 
Unsullied by the world's gross breath. 

It looks for ever new. 



WILLERSLEY. 



Through winding vales the peaceful Derwent steals, 
And shuns the sunshine that its course reveals ; 
Hid among woods, it calmly glides along : 
Here let me learn to scorn the busy throng. 
Trees (how majestical !) along the glade 
Give "boundless contiguity of shade;" 
Sheltered beneath their umbrage, let me rove, 
In paths which sacred are to peace and love — 
Where Rasselas might find content at last — 
Where e'en his happy valley is surpast — 
Where dimpling cheeks and laughing eyes express 
(If true on earth, there only) happiness. 



WILLERSLEY. 219 

See, woods along the rocky steep 

Magnificently rise ; 
How graceful is the mountain's sweep ! 

How beautiful the skies ! 
E'en the projecting crags are dight 
In the rich hues of morning light ! 
While Willersley is Cromford's boast,* 
Can Paradise be wholly lost? 

The tangled shrubs creep o'er yon distant hills, 
Whose soil more rugged seems; and there, 
'Mid giant stones uncouth and bare, 

Leap out unnumbered rills. 

Their course the lively waters take 
Through clefts, as lizards thrid the brake ; 



* Willersley is the seat of Richard Arkwright, Esq. It is 
situated on a beautiful eminence about a mile from Matlock, 
just above the romantic village of Cromford. 



220 W1LLERSLEY, 

Or where dark precipices frown, 

Rush with collected fury down. 

How sparkling are the streams ! how bright 

The glorious falls where they unite ! 

Where trees, fantastically wove, 

Form a green canopy above ! 

And then the spray, that dews the bower 

Above, descends a cloud-like shower ; 

There 's contrast too of light and shade, 

As sun-beams the recess invade. 

The wild fern well becomes its place ; 

The brushwood has luxuriant grace. 

Tradition says that yon bold rocks 

Were shiver'd by an earthquake's shocks ; 

For nature's mighty agents here 

Work out their wonders far and near. 

Spirits of air and water, ye 

Act with portentous energy. 



WILLERSLEY. 221 



Whether ye seek the cavern's gloom, 
Or roar within the mountain's womb ; 
And broken crags and harden'd weeds 
Are proofs of your miraculous deeds ! 



VITTORIA COLONNA. ( a ) 



Questa e la gloriosa e gran Madonna, 
Che senza pari al mondo, e del suo sesso 
L'honor sovran Vittoria Colonna ; 
Che'l nome fuo sopra le stelle ha messo; 
Vittoria che celeste 6 mortal donna 
Dubita il mondo di nomarla spesso ; 
Vittoria che piangendo il suo marito 
Non men ella di lui si mostra a dito. 

Bernardino Mardrano. 



Divine Colonna! boast of Leo's days ! 
Rival of Petrarch in thy gentle lays ! 
Pride of a princely house, unmatch'd for fame ! ( b ) 
Pescara's noble wife ! most glorious dame ! 
These were thy titles, fair Vittoria, thine 
A heart Devotion deem'd its purest shrine : 
Thou sang'st (instead of culling fancy's wreath) 
Thy husband's virtues, and thy Saviour's death. 



VITTORIA COLONNA. 223 

When fair Ausonia's sons were bathed in slaughter. 
And Christian blood o'erflow'd the land like water ; 
When poets, mindless of their glorious trust, ( c ) 
Deck'd with gay flowers the hoary head of Lust, 
Thy pious Muse look'd heaven-ward, or with zeal 
Urged warring states their mutual wounds to heal. 

Vittoria, like a heaven-descended spright, 

Wander'd on Arno's banks at hush of night 

With Him, the master-spirit of an age 

Fertile in great ones, — Poet, Sculptor, Sage ! 

And pointing upwards to the deep blue sky. 

(How beautiful thy star-light, Italy !) 

" There is stability alone," she said ; 

" There, Buonarotti, when thy glories fade, 

W T hen e'en thy works shall perish, thou shalt live ; 

The bent to genius let Religion give. 

What thy vast mind has imaged, that thy hand 

Has bodied forth in sculpture, truly grand. 



224 VITTORIA COLONNA. 

O wondrous Man ! adore th' eternal Source 

Of genius with thy souFs intensest force ! 

Should such a mind from its Creator turn, 

Devils might well rejoice, and angels mourn. 

Let truths tremendous on thy canvas dwell, ( d ) 

Or joys celestial, or the woes of hell ; 

Thus may'st thou fortify the good, and make 

The wicked at thy painted terrors quake. 

Masterly done ! thy giant forms o'erawe 

The soul ! — the Jewish Leader's look is law : 

Trembling I gazed upon that look ; I felt 

Such inward veneration, that I knelt. 

The Persian feels such awe-commixt delight, 

When sunbursts 'mid the storms break out so bright. 

Many will strive to copy (vain their will !) 

This great exemplar of creative skill. 

God's mightiest prophet lives in marble ! View 

Thy work, grand Architect, and own it true." 

Rome. November, 1818. 



NOTES ON VITTOR1A COLONNA. 



( a ) Vittoria Colonna* 

Vittoria Colonna was the daughter of the celebrated com- 
mander Patrizio Colonna, grand constable of the kingdom 
of Naples, by Anna di Montefeltro, the daughter of Frede- 
rigo, Duke of Urbino. She married Ferdinando d'Avalos, 
Marquis of Pescara, who died at Milan of his military fa- 
tigues, after a short but glorious life. " This fatal event/' 
(says the learned and elegant biographer of Leo the Tenth) 
" blighted all the hopes of his consort; nor did her sorrow 
admit of any alleviation, except such as she found in ce- 
lebrating the character and virtues of her husband, and re- 
cording their mutual affections in her tender and exquisite 
verse. She was a warm admirer of the great artist Michael 
Agnolo (Angelo,) who executed for her several excellent 
pieces of sculpture. She devoted her poetical talents chiefly 
to sacred subjects. Her exemplary conduct, and the un- 
common merit of her writings, rendered her the general 
theme of applause among the most distinguished poets and 

Q 



226 NOTES ON 

learned men of the time, with many of whom she maintain- 
ed a friendly epistolary correspondence. Michael Agnolo 
addressed to her several sonnets. Among the Italian 
writers who have revived in their works the style of Pe- 
trarca, Vittoria Colonna is entitled to the first rank ; and 
her sonnets, many of which are addressed to the shade of 
her departed husband, or relate to the state of her own 
mind, possess more vigour of thought, vivacity of colouring 
and natural pathos, than are generally to be found among 
the disciples of that school. Her verses in ottava rima ex- 
cel the productions of any of her cotemporaries, excepting 
those only of the inimitable Ariosto. In one of his poems 
Michael Agnolo laments the fluctuating state of his reli- 
gious sentiments, and calls upon the Marchesana to direct 
him in his spiritual concerns." — Roscoe's Life of Leo the 
Tenth, quarto edition, vol. iii. pp. 217-22. 






( b ) Pride of a princely house, unmatch *d for fame . 

For the splendid origin, illustrious actions, &c. of the 
Colonna family, see Gibbon, vol. xii. p. 317. octavo edition. 
Marco Antonio Colonna commanded the Pope's galleys at 
the naval victory of Lepanto. — ce Actium, Lepanto, fatal 
Trafalgar."— Childe Harold. 

Prospero Colonna was a very great general, (see Guic- 
riardini 1st. lib. xiv.) Petrarca calls the Colonna, (the co- 
lumn) on which Rome rests her hopes. 



V1TT0RIA COLONNA. 227 

(c) When poets, mindless of their glorious trust. 

"The Muses are seen in the company of Passion, and there 
is almost no affection so depraved and vile which is not 
soothed by some kind of learning ; and herein the indul- 
gence and arrogance of wits doth exceedingly derogate from 
the Majesty of the Muses; that whereas they should be the 
leaders and ancient-bearers of life, they are become the 
footpages and buffoons to lust and vanity." — Bacon's 
Advancement of Learning. 

Many of the Italian poets have sullied their genius by 
the licentiousness of their writings ; among them was " II 
divino Pietro Aretino," who made a mockery of religion, by 
alternately composing the most pious and the most licen- 
tious works ; even the secretary of Leo the Tenth, the ce- 
lebrated Bembo, is not exempt from the charge of writing 
obscene poems. "Quod poema merito vocare possis ob- 
scenissimam elegantiam, aut elegantissimam obscenitatem." 
—See Bayle, art. Bembo, Aretino. 

<•< O gracious God ! how far have we 
Profaned thy heavenly gift of poesy ! 
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, 
Debased to each obscene and impious use, 
Whose harmony was first ordain'd above 
For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love !" 

Dry den. 

Q2 



228 NOTES ON VITTORIA COLONNA. 



( d ) Let truths tremendous on thy canvas dwell. 

The Last Judgment of Michael Angelo, in the Sistine 
Chapel of the Vatican at Rome, thus calls forth the admi- 
ration of a powerful but fastidious critic, Mr. Forsyth. — 
" How congenial the powers of the painter! Bold and 
precipitating, they dash on to the immediate object, in de- 
fiance of rules and ridicule." Of the great statue of Moses 
in the S. Pietro in Vincoli, he says, " Here sits the Moses 
of M. Angelo, frowning with the terrific eyebrows of 
Olympian Jove." 



SALERNO, 



i. 
-How Beautiful, Salerno, is thy bay ! 
How green thy heights monastic ! — let me stand 
On yonder mountain, ('tis the break of day,) 
And view, outstretch'd below, a sacred land,- — 
Beneath the day-blush indistinctly grand. 
Here beauty smiled, and valour boldly fought .-— 
Who would not fight when beauty gives command ? 
Here, with unclouded mind, the scholar sought 
Those academes, where learning every science taught. 



230 SALERNO. 






II. 
Hail, thou thrice-blessed sun ! how very few 
With thankfulness enjoy thy genial beams! 
Or from the mountain's height are wont to view, 
With feelings of delight, morn's earliest gleams,— 
The mist uprising o'er the distant streams ! 
The morn's an emblem of our second birth; 
When we shall quit this pleasant land of dreams, ( a ) 
The sun, to those who feel and know their worth, 

Predicts eternal glories for the sons of earth. 

in. 
Here let me pause. The blood of Christ was spilt. 
To free mankind from death's eternal chains : — - 
Not through indulgences to cancel guilt, 
Or from the tainted heart wash out its stains, 
Unless repentance chasten it with pains. 
The spiritual pride of Rome must yield 
To pure philosophy, that now disdains 
Those papal fiats to which kings appeal' d, 

When mad ambition used religion as its shield. ( b ) 



SALERNO. 231 

IV. 
Ye haughty Cardinals, who o'er the minds ( c ) 
Of despot sovereigns held despotic sway, — ■ 
No heir to your self-willed ambition binds 
Nobility, with iron links, to-day ; — 
Your power anomalous has past away ! 
Ye were most potent ministers, and well, 
With eagle swiftness, pounced upon your prey. 
Yet are ye greater now than those who dwell 

On Nicolo's vast heights, or hermit in his cell ? ( d ) 

v. 
Ye have upraised indeed the monarch's power, — 
That it might fall from high with greater force : 
The chains ye forged were broken in an hour, 
By outraged multitudes, without remorse. 
Affection is true loyalty's prime source. 
Up mounts ambition, like a seeled dove, 
(While vulgar spirits wonder at its course) 
Higher and higher yet, it mounts above 

Royalty's self, that scorns (how blind !)the people'slove. 



232 SALERNO. 

VI. 
A few years pass away, and then — farewell 
To wealth and rank, and all we hold most dear ! — 
For ever and for ever we must dwell 
With saints or daemons, — death approacheth near. 
Why quakes yon mighty potentate with fear ? 
He leaves a name behind ; and heroes toil 
To gain — what many have who ne'er appear 
But in the poet's fabled lays, — they spoil 
Others' repose, and lose their own through vain turmoil ! 

VII. 

Are not the heroes of romance as known 
As Caesar, Attila, or Ammon's son ? ( e ) 
What an unreal thing is that renown 
WTiich after-ages give — for battles won — 
To him, who from this bustling world is gone ! 
He wanders through the mansions of the dead, — 
Where joy ne'er smiled, the light has never shone — 
Vexed by the groans of those who daily bled, 
That through — else happy — lands their lord might ruin 
spread ! 



NOTES ON SALERNO. 



( a ) When we shall quit this pleasant land of dreams*— 

Without entering into the fanciful and mystical ideas of 
Wordsworth, in regard to our present situation on earth, 
and a pre-existent state, I might be allowed to quote from 
the Divine Analogy of Bishop Butler.— " Our present state 
may possibly be the consequence of somewhat past, of 
which we are wholly ignorant, — as it has a reference to 
somewhat to come, of which we know scarce any more than 
is necessary to practise." 



( b ) When mad ambition used Religion as its shield. 

Pope Anaclet gave the investiture of the principality of 
Capua to Roger the First, King of Sicily, when Robert, its 
own Prince, was in possession of it ! — Giannone, 1st. Nap. 
Lib. X. 

" It is the liberty of Examination," says Bentham, 



234 NOTES ON SALERNO. 

" which has corrected the errors of ignorance, and restores 
religion to its true object/' [ 

Innocent the Third pretended that he had the right of 
legation over Sicily : — he deposes Philip in favour of Otho, 
and insists upon his deposition. 

" II faut/' disoit-il, " ou que le Prince Philippe perde 
l'empire, ou que je perde le souverain Pontificate — Histoire 
d' Allemagne, par Barre* 



( c ) Ye haughty Cardinals, &c. 

Though the vices of Richelieu and Ximenes are in some 
degree sunk in the splendour of their abilities, — what shall 
we say of the cunning Mazarin and the turbulent de Retz ? 



( d ) On Nicolo y s vast heights, or hermit in his cell ? 

St. Nicolo is a very high mountain in the island of 
Ischia. On its heights are the lonely dwellings of a few 
monks. — If they think it is necessary for their salvation 
that they should abstract themselves from the world, why 
should we quarrel with their voluntary retirement ? They 
err, at least, on the right side. 



( e ) As Caesar, Attila, or Amnion's son ? 

- ( Quoi done a votre avis fut-ce un fou qu' Alexandre ? 
Qui ? cet 6cervele qui mit PAsie en cendre ? 



NOTES ON SALERNO. 235 

Ce fougueux l'Angeli, qui de sang alter£, 

Maitre du monde en tier, s'y trouvoit trop serre ? 

I/enrage qu'il etoit, ne Roi d'une province, 

Qu'il pouvoic gouverner en bon et sage Prince, 

S'en alia follement, et pensant etre Dieu, 

Courir comme un Bandit qui n'a ni feu ni lieu ; 

Et trainant avec soi les horreurs de la guerre, 

De sa vaste folie emplir toute la terre. 

Heureux ! si de son terns, pour cent bonnes raisons, 

Le Mac£doine eut eu de Petites-Maisons, 

Et qu'un sage Tuteur Peut en cette demeure, 

Par avis de Parens, enferme" de bonne heure. "-^JBtoile 



S O N G. 



A breathless feeling, a suspense 
Of life, a quietude intense 
Prevail'd around me in this hour ; 
E'en Silence felt Love's mighty power." 

US. 



Like liquid gold glitter'd the waves of the ocean = 
The moon there reflected her light : 

All was silent and still : not a breeze was in motion 
So deeply serene was the night 

O ! sacred to love was the thought-soothing hour 

That hush'd all reflection away — 
All life's busy cares ! so diffusive the power 

Of love at the mild close of day ! 



SONG, 237 

What abandonment sweet did I feel, as I roved 

Alone, o'er the far-winding shore. 
Then came o'er my memory scenes that I loved. 

Scenes, alas ! that I ne'er shall see more. 

O Nature I thy calm gives a pleasure indeed 
To the heart that no words can express : 

As sweet a delight as the lover's whose meed 
Is his bride's long-expected caress. 



ADDRESSED TO MY LITTLE GIRL. 



Thy eager look, my dearest child ! 

Thy little arms extended — 
Thine eye so vivid, yet so mild, 

Where life with love is blended — 

That look, that smile, those eyes of blue, 

Thy thousand winning ways, 
Promise me pleasures pure and true, 

Should God prolong my days. 



TO MY LITTLE GIRL. 239 

But of the future none can speak ; 

That lies in depths of night ; 
And vain are all our hopes, and weak 

Our fore-schemes of delight. 

And wilt thou, when upon the bed 

Of sickness I shall lie, 
Wilt thou support my aching head, 

And teach me how to die? 

My first-born child ! my Julia dear ! 

Close to my heart I press thee ; 
May He whom all must love and fear, 

May He for ever bless thee ! 



POEMS 

WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The generous warrior, with a thoughtful eye, 
Viewing his captive, heaves the pensive sigh. 
" Thus," he exclaims, " has fickle fortune graced 
My name with honours soon to be effaced ; 
When some proud victor dares ambition's height, 
My star of glory sheds diminish'd light ; 
But virtue will remain, as years may roll, 
The never-fading sunshine of the soul." 

Why droop philosophers to hear the name 
Of him, whose deeds emblaze the rolls of fame ? 
Can weakness sicken those whom virtue cheers 
With health of mind increasing yet with years ? 
No ! from another cause their sorrows flow, — 
From wisdom, sensible of human woe. 

r2 



244 A FRAGMENT. 

To see, where happy ignorance is blind, 
The deadly griefs, that overwhelm mankind — 
To feel for others with a social soul — 
To weep at reasons impotent control, 
When passions lord it, with triumphant sway, 
O'er senseless potentates, whom slaves obey — 
Such is the envied privilege of thought : 
The wisest man might wish himself untaught. 

Let vain historians praise successful guilt, 

Then coldly calculate the blood it spilt — 

Dwell with delight on Caesar's mighty deeds, 

Then rail at treason, when the tyrant bleeds — 

My humble mind, unblest by martial pride, 

With pain pursued his sanguinary tide ; 

But when, at length, death stemm'd his ruthless course, 

I hail'd the dagger's patriotic force ; 

Still shall the hero perish unrenown'd, 

Unwept in death, nor e'en with honours crown'd ? 



A FRAGMENT. 245 

Shall Nelson lie forgotten in the grave, 
Who stretch'd the arm to conquer, yet to save ? 
No ! laurels thicken o'er the patriot's tomb ; 
His honours flourish in unfading bloom : 
On acts like his, e'en rugged virtue smiles, 
When freedom's keenness baffles ruffian wiles. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN UPON LEAVING HARROW SCHOOL. 



O dukes cornitum valete coetus, 
Longe quos simul a domo profectos 
Divers^ varias viee reportant. 

Catullus. 



As evening shades, in summer, calm the light, 

Thus thoughts of future, temper wild delight. 

Through Hope's delusive glass bright scenes we view 

By many fancied — realized to few. 

All are pre-doomed to taste the cup of woe, 

To war with griefs which here they never know. 

In youth's gay spring, the soul, devoid of care, 

Forebodes no cloud — life seems in prospect fair ; 

Soon withers on the cheek the rose of health ; 

Soon is consumed anticipated wealth. 



VERSES, &c. 247 

When sickness wastes the frame, disgrace the heart, 
Untimely death alone can ease impart. 
How relative is happiness ! — e'en now, 
When, with unusual warmth, my spirits glow. 
Some fondly dream o'er days of boyhood past, 
And fain would wish them, if renew' d, to last ; 
'Till memory wakes in age a transient joy, 
The world's worn pilgrim seems again a boy. 

Ye dear companions of my early years, 
Oh ! may these prove but visionary fears ! 
Yet, should the world, with meretricious wiles, 
Contract the heart, deform fair friendship's smiles — 
Should lawless passions frighten reason down, 
Then seat themselves, alternate, on her throne ; 
W T hen each might lord it with unruly power, 
The petty tyrant of the passing hour — 
Say, which were best, Orbilius * to obey, 
Or thus to wild affections fall a prey ! 

* Orbilius is the name of the schoolmaster of Horace. Here 
poetic license makes it synonymous with that of any schoolmaster. 



248 VERSES WRITTEN ON 

To cheer reflection, science shines afar, 

Her will I follow as my polar star, 

She will conduct me to the blest retreats 

Of classic taste — the Muse's sacred seats. 

Still shall this hill, with Wisdom's nurslings blest, 

Wake many a fond remembrance in my breast. 

Here, oft, with unavailing zeal, I sought 

To body forth in verse the fleeting thought, 

That charm'd the fancy, while it mock'd the mind, 

Then fled — too volatile to be confined. 

Here throbbed my anxious breast 'twixt hope and fear, 

As peal'd the warning bell upon my ear. 

Here, beckon'd on by Freedom's lawless smile, 

I wander' d forth to pass the well-known mile. 

Some chiding " voice in every breeze" I heard j 

Now onwards ran— now trembling, scarcely stirr'd* 

Here Superstition raised no local dread. 

With careless step I roved among the dead ; 

Laugh' d at the quaint memorials of our doom, 

That, carved on wood, adorn'd the rustic's tomb, 



LEAVING HARROW SCHOOL. 249 

Here have I tasted innocent delight ; 
No conscious guilt disturbed my rest at night. 
May no sad contrast to these happy times 
Add weight to woe, or aggravate my crimes. 

Scenes of my youth, farewell! nor thou refuse 
This tributary effort of my Muse — 
Thou, whom no more 'tis flattery to commend, 
My guide — excuse a fonder term — my friend. 
Still prune with care the student's vagrant lays, 
Sweeten the toil of early worth with praise : 
Bid Genius kindle at a poet's name, 
And young Ambition emulate thy fame. 



TO MY SISTER, 
ON HER BIRTH -DAY 



Bur the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd ; 
In these, ere tiiflers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain. 

Goldsmith's Deserted Village, 



How swiftly pass our early years away ! 
Youth seems the short-lived phantom of a day.* 
Childhood is gone, that fairy scene is o'er ; 
The sports of infancy now please no more ; 
On past delights remembrance loves to dwell, 
While sighs break forth to calm the bosom's swell. 
You smile, perchance, at such a mournful strain ; 
u Mine are the joys of life, why thus complain?" 

* Festinat enim decurrere velox, 
Flosculus angustse miserseque brevissinia vitae 
Portio : dum bibimus, dum serta, unguenta, puellas, 
Poscimus, obrepit non intellects senectus. Juv. Sat. ix. 



TO MY SISTER. 251 

Though Fashion beckons from the splendid hall — 

Though Pleasure seems to triumph at the ball — 

Think not that real happiness is there, 

Nor trust, my Mary, wealth's imposing glare. 

Of all the motley crew who crowd the town, 

How few there are who can exist alone ! 

Some fly to gaieties to banish grief: 

Can flippant converse give the heart relief? 

Some to conceal their narrow range of thought ; 

These look intelligence ; yet talk of nought. 

No airy visions o'er their fancy sweep ; 

Their souls are chain'd in one perpetual sleep. 

These men are solemn mountebanks at best, 

Outcasts of Nature, though by Fortune blest, 

Compared with him whose bosom Genius fires, 

Whom Science brightens, or the Muse inspires. 

Youth's fresh'ning aspect, Beauty's faultless form, 

Shrink from the searching blast of sorrow's storm : 



252 TO MY SISTER. 

But intellect, that Deity within, 
Will soften grief; nay more, may conquer sin. 
It gathers strength through each successive year- 
More amiable in age its charms appear — - 
While Pleasure's surfeit palls upon the heart, 
And fashion's fair illusions soon depart. 



VERSES 

ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL FITZPATRICK, 



Blest as thou wert, Fitzpatrick, with a mind 

By eloquence sublimed, by wit refined, 

With all the gifts that science could impart, 

With all the social virtues of the heart ; 

Colloquial elegance to charm the fair, 

The table's boast, though Sheridan was there ; 

Well might we mourn for ever, ever gone 

Such splendid qualities combined in one. 

Yet, hating all the foppery of praise, 

Thy Muse retiring, shunn'd the public gaze. 

The multitude's applauses are but low, 

Compared with those which learning's sons bestow, 



254 VERSES, &c. 

If Fox,* companion of an honour'd few 
Souls of an higher class, to friendship true, 
Smiled on thy efforts, in those glorious nights 
When Fancy soar'd above her usual flights ; 
Or when Philosophy display' d her charms — 
To lure the patriot from her sister's arms, 
His kind approval was thy best reward ; 
It warm'd the man, inspirited the bard. 

* Quiii ubi se a vulgo et scena in secreta remorant 
Virtus Scipiadse et mitis sapientia Laeli ; 

Hor. Sat- 



THE DESERTED FRIEND. 



And friendship, which a faint affection breeds, 
Without regard of good* dies like ill-grounded seeds. 

Spenser's Fahy Queen. 

Ut matrona meretrici dispar erit, atque 
Discolor? infido scurroe distabit amicus. 

Horat. Epi&t. 



Mild was the air, serene the night, 
The moon beam'd forth her tranquil light, 
No stormy daemon roused the blast, 
(As o'er the hills in haste I past,) 
To chill my frame or cramp my speed — 
But oh ! my heart was cold indeed. 
The look of scorn, the shameless stare, 
Had curdled e'en the life-blood there, 
For friends had strangely gazed on me : 
I marr'd, perchance, their social glee. 



256 THE DESERTED FRIEND. 

Yet once they bade my spirits glow — 
My crime was then— the same as now. 
Too quickly summer's beauty dies ! 
The moral 's plain — " In time be wise." 
The winter's rage prepared to brave, 
No shock we feel, though tempests rave ; 
But friendship, I too fondly thought, 
Would last for ever, if unbought, 
Life's constant sunshine ; to the breast 
An Eden, nay, an heaven of rest, 
Where, when the world's vexations tire^ 
It might, to soothe its pangs, retire. 
I was deceived : the bitter truth 
Proves confidence is nought in youth. 
Such change, alas ! was not foreseen, 
Yet oft before, such change has been ; 
And many have been duped by others, 
Who seem'd to them as kind as brothers. 
How the bright arch that spans the sky, 
In childhood caught my eager eye : 



THE DESERTED FRIEND. 257 

The beauteous curve appear'd to stand 
Substantial on yon rising land. 
How rich its hues ! each hue alone 
Betray* d a link of precious stone. 
The glorious prize within my view, 
One luckless day I must pursue ; 
From hill to hill it quickly fled, 
Through bush and brake my steps it led ; 
Then, as it mock'd my further stay, 
It fainter gleam' d — it died away. 
Home I return' d, ashamed, yet smiled, 
In seeming scorn, on chase so wild. 

Thus 'tis with friendship ; many claim 
A portion of her hallow'd flame, 
Yet friendship scarce exists on earth : 
Few seek, still fewer find, her worth. 
The maid unseen, we love to chase 
Some airy vision in her place. 



258 THE DESERTED FRIEND. 

But soon we mourn the shadow lost, 
Youth will despair when hopes are crost ; 
Then bitterly we rue the time 
When confidence appear'd no crime. 
Will wisdom soothe us ? 'tis too late. 
Love was abused — then welcome hate. 



ON KENILWORTH CASTLE. 



Majestic, though in ruins. — Milton. 



Mouldering away in desolated pride, 
Thy glory past, thy majesty remains ; 

Though time has torn thy pillar 'd porches wide, 
Where Echo sleeps, and horrid Silence reigns. 

Thus onwards all things to destruction glide, 
Whatever pageantries this world contains — 

Decaying, not o'erthrown ! thou still art seen 

A monumental wreck, of what thou erst hast been. 

s2 



260 ON KENILWORTH CASTLE. 

Still let me contemplate thy wasting walls, 

Thy topless columns whence the owlet screams : 
Those grass-worn mounds were once baronial halls, 

Whose pristine worth surpasseth Fancy's dreams. 
There chivalry presided o'er the balls, 

The sun of beauty there shed forth its beams : 
Now all tfs loneliness ! Reflection, say 

How long the works of man outlive man's little day ! 



OFFA, KING OF MERCIA. 



Honour but weakens high emprize ; 
It never guides the truly wise. 
Offa had learn 5 d this regal lore, 
By history taught to many more* 
Whate'er he will'd, that must be right, 
Were it an act of cruel might. 
Success had sanctified his schemes ; 
All scruples were but dotard's dreams. 
Yet was his heart untroubled, free 
From conscience-rousing agony? 
No ! for those pangs, he ne'er would own, 
Oft started through his deepened frown. 
The thoughts of death were painful, yet 
His mind on savage deeds was set. 
He loved the fight ; his fearless hand 
Wielded with ease the deadly brand ; 



262 OFFA, KING OF MERCIA. 

But more he loved to gain his end, 

By arts to which e'en kings descend, 

Outwitting those who ne'er believed 

That man his brother man deceived. 

And Offa's brow was worn with thought : 

His were the fruits of wars well fought ; 

His too the counsel — well he saw 

That sovereignty itself is law. 

His schemes were framed with practised skill ; 

No sturdy faction crost his will. 

Invincible miscall'd, a slave 

To passions such as taint the brave, 

He had upheld fair Mercia's fame, 

He had o'erwhelm'd his foes with shame ; 

" Grim-visaged war" on him had smiled, 

Him fortune never had beguiled. 

Brave spirit ! though the foe were near, 

Thy very name had banish' d fear. 



THE WORLD AS IT IS. 



Such as are ambitious art incited by the greatness of their power to at- 
tempt great matters ; aud the most sottish or lazy may discharge them- 
selves of Cares, and hope that others will be more easily hired to take the 
burden of business upon them while they lie at ease. 

Sidney on Government, page 165. 



I. 

That master-vice Ambition has its course ; 
It wakens Hope, — it promises success : 
Can Wisdom, Reason, Justice break the force, 
Of those bold passions that o'erlook distress ? 
Not Fear itself, their vigour can repress. 
Hence Pride attempts what Fancy had designd. 
Betraying often its own littleness ; 
Fortune unbalances the strongest mind, 
Such vanities beset the mightiest of mankind. 



264 THE WORLD AS IT IS. 

II. 

These truths experience, history ever taught, 

And many a moral tale in childhood loved ; 

But men by splendid wickedness are caught, 

They laud those acts which erst they disapproved ; 

Their spleen, by buried crime alone is moved. 

Great villains thrive — we deem them great indeed. 

How brave their spirits, wheresoever they roved 

To desolate the world, while millions bleed, 
Officious fools for aye the cause of bravoes plead. 

in. 

While Aves vehement confuse their brains, 

Kings would be demigods, and courtiers kneel. 

Audacious mockery ! the Muse refrains 

From courting those who ne'er for others feel. 

Alas ! she cannot scorn the proud appeal 

Of steel-clad heroes to her lofty lay ; 

For them she weaves the laurel-wreath with zeal. 

As hirelings stalk along in proud array, 
Where blazing lights shed forth an artificial day. 



THE WORLD AS IT IS. 2C5 

IV. 

And Genius thus is self-be tray' d to please 

An heartless tyrant, in his pride of power. 

The love of flattery is a sore disease ; 

It spreads from chieftains' hall to ladies' bower. 

The worm that gnaws the oak destroys the flower. 

Shall sacred poesy that heavenward springs, 

Her flights, to creep before a mortal, lower ? 

She scorns the song which venal minstrel sings, 
Nor to delight the proud her own fine offering brings. 

v. 

The worshippers of images offend 

Against Omnipotence ; nor they alone ; 

Those too, who, mindless of their nature, bend 

Before a fool or tyrant on a throne. 

Such men to scorn their God are ever prone. 

Their idols soon are swept away from earth, 

In folly riotous, with pride upblown. 

What then avail their victories or mirth, 
The splendour of their deeds, the lustre of their birth ? 



266 THE WORLD AS IT IS. 

VI. 

Truth must prevail at length ; who now reveres 
Almamon's ( a ) wealth, or Akber's ( b ) mighty name ? 
Or his ( c ) far more renown' d in later years, 
Once loudly thunder'd through the trump of fame ? 
His hardihood may women-warriors shame, 
The beams of science, pierce through northern gloom, 
Barbarian tribes their love of arts proclaim ; 
Justice may soon in all her beauty bloom, 
And Prejudice lie sunk in dark oblivion's tomb. ( d ) 






NOTES TO " THE WORLD AS IT IS." 



( a ) Almamon's wealth. 

See Gibbon's " Decline and Fail of the Roman Empire/' 
vol. v. page 419, quarto edit. — After describing the immense 
wealth of Almansor, who laid the foundation of Bagdad, 
the Author thus proceeds. u The courtiers would surely 
praise the liberality of his grandson Almamon, who gave 
away four-fifths of the income of a province, a sum of two 
millions four hundred thousand gold dinars, before he drew 
his foot from the stirrup/' 



(i>) Akber's mighty name. 

For the account of the exploits of Akber, his magnificent 
palace at Agra, and his splendid peacock throne, I refer the 
reader to Maurice's Indian Antiquities, vol. i. pages 196. 210. 



( c ) Or his far more renown* d ! 

Napoleon Buonaparte ! c( How art thou fallen, Lucifer, 
Son of the Morning !" 



( d ) And prejudice lie sunk. 

" Fond impious man ! think' st thou yon sanguine cloud 
Raised by thy breath has quench'd the Orb of day ? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, 
And warms the nation with redoubled ray/' 

Gray's Bard- 



ROSAMOND, A FRAGMENT.* 



u Talche si pote dire Alboino vinse PItalia, et una Femina vinse Alboino." 
— Del Regno d'ltalia Epitome. 



" He would despise me as a thing that bears 
Insult with patience, or dissolves in tears, 
A better lesson to his sex I '11 teach ; 
The cruel madman is within my reach. 
Revenge is mine ; that passion ill supprest 
Rages with quicken'd fury in my breast. 
Were there no mountebanks to furnish sport 
For all the savages who crowd his court, 

* For the story to which this fragment relates, see Gibbon's 
( '~ Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." Quarto edit. vol. iv 
page 430. 



ROSAMOND. 269 

But / must be selected to delight 

Their vaunting spirits — forced to such a sight ? — 

Yet it unnerves me not ; my father's will 

Is done, and hatred stifles sense of ill. 

This pleasant triumph too may sadly end ; 

Trust not, fool-hardy prince, the seeming friend. 

Thy wife is but thy slave, untrue to thee, 

Her person is encaged, her heart is free ; 

Or if not free, another doth possess 

That, which thee, parricide, can never bless. 

Not always he, who braves in various shapes 

Death undisguised, his secret snare escapes. 

Thy Lombard chiefs shall not protect thee now, 

A woman's weak revenge will give the blow. 

Thus self absolved from crime, let others prate, 

I '11 urge my gentle paramour to hate 

That royal monster whose untender zeal 

Has forced my soul this agony to feel." 



270 ROSAMOND. 

Thus spoke the lofty dame, while passions strove 
Within for mastery — hate, vengeance, love. 
Hate of her cruel lord, revenge on him 
Who tore her very heart to please his whim. 
Another passion rose, as bad indeed, 
Yet such as cheer'd her at her utmost need. 
The slayer of her kindred forced to wed, 
Dragg'd like a victim to the nuptial bed, 
Marriage to her no morning-star appear'd ; 
Its imaged brightness once her hopes had cheer'd. 
Wliy marvel that her feelings went astray, 
When thus was undermined their only stay ? 



BRUTUS. 



" When the uncorrupted part of the senate had, by the death of Caesar, 
made one great effort to restore their former state and liberty, the success 
did not answer their hopes ; but that whole assembly was so sunk in its 
authority, that those patriots were forced to fly and give way to the mad- 
ness of the people^ who, by their own disposition, stirred up with the ha- 
rangues of their orators, were now wholly bent upon single and despotic 
slavery." <Swtft, 



When Liberty, triumphing over her foes, 
Re-breath'd, though affrighted at Italy's woes, 
The sword of her Brutus was redden'd in vain ; 
He broke, yet the Romans refasten'd, the chain. 
For tyranny's woe-trumpet near and afar, 
Bade the legions of servitude rush to the war. 
He, the last of the Romans, by Fortune disown'd, 
(That goddess the brows of an Antony crown'd) 
Saw Freedom dishonour'd by those whom she loved. 
Saw the charms of mock-glory by thousands approved, 



272 BRUTUS. 

All proud of a master, none conscious of shame ; 
Religion unheeded, and virtue a name.* 
The genius of Rome had aroused him too late — 
Overborne by the torrent, he yielded to fate. 

5 See an admirable defence of the exclamation of Brutus in 
his dying moments, in the Dictionnaire de Bayle sur Particle 
Brutus, torn, 1. page 677. 



ON THE 



DEATH OF ROSA. 



as soon as I am dead, 



Come all and watch one night about my hearse : 
Bring each a mournful story and a tear, 
To offer at it when I go to earth." 

The Maid's Tragedy, by Beaumont and Fletcher* 



A heart full of feeling, poor Rosa, was thine, 
Thy virtues deceived thee indeed ; 

But beauty and tenderness frequently shine 
In the victims predestined to bleed. 

Some pitiless hypocrite tainted thy youth, 
Thus the morn of thy life was o'ercast ; 

He spoke but of happiness — cruel untruth, 
At that moment for ever 'twas past, 

T 



274 ON THE DEATH OF KOSA. 

Thy spirit that sported in yesterday's light, 
Now sadden' d and droop' d in the shade ; 

Like the Garland of Chloe* that wither' d at night, 
Thy innocence blossom'd to fade. 

Rejected of man, the poor sufferer sought 

That mercy, denied her on earth, 
From Him, in whose eyes our best virtues are nought, 

If haughtiness pampers their worth. 

She loved — was betray' d — is misfortune a crime ? 

Ah no ! that I ne'er can believe ; 
The seducer may thrive in his guilt for a time, 

There is Oxe whom he cannot deceive. 

Fair mourner ! thy agony soon will be o'er, 

Since Mercy is hovering nigh ; 
That pang — 'tis the price of forgiveness^— no more, 

Thou art welcomed by angels on high. 

* See Prior's Garland. 



VERSES 

ON" THE 

COMMEMORATION OF THE SECOND CENTENARY 
OF SHAKESPEARE. 



What beings, Ariel-like, appear 

To flit along the sky? 
'Tis come, 'tis come the joyous year, 

In gladsomeness they cry, 

Their eyes with brighter radiance shine, 

Lighter their wings, and oh ! how fine ! 

Merrily, merrily, from the air 

To Fancy's pictured hall repair. 

t 2 



216 THE SECOND CENTENARY 

There fairy-land in landscape glows : 
There Oberon shall crown the brows 

Of him to whom 'tis meet to pay 
Our homage on this holv-dav. 

There shines not the sun ; but a new light from heaven. 
Manv-colour'd as Iris, to Genius is given : 
Who waves it. and waving it. fitfully plays 
O'er our Shakespeare's fine eyes that reflect back its 
rays. 
Lo ! seated on her opal throne 

In robes, eye-spotted. Fancy smiles ; 
Well might she smile, her fruitful zone 
With varied pleasures life beguiles. 

Before her bright eyes, as if in a glass. 

Fresh scenes in succession continually pass. 
Unshrouding now her awful form ; 
(Around her how the passions storm !) 



OF SHAKESPEARE. 277 



Though " ever young yet full of eld,"* 
Great Nature comes, as music swell'd 
Through Fancy's hall, a mingled strain,— 
Since pleasure, sorrow, all the train 
Of subject feelings on her wait, 
Her darling's fame to consecrate* 

Quickly through the golden gate 
Glide the fairies, to relate 

All their pranks of yesternight ; 
With their coronals of flowers, 
Gather' d after April showers, 

*Tis indeed a lovely sight. 

44 Hail ! mortal, hail, near Avon's stream, 
As o'er thy slumbers Nature smiled, 

We stole upon thee in a dream, 

To fill thy soul with fancies wild. 

* Spenser. 



278 SECOND CENTENARY OF SHAKESPEARE. 

The moonlight slept upon the bank, 
To charm thy guardian from our prank ; 
But still her sweet influence watch'd o'er thy head, 
To temper the thoughts which our cunning had bred, 
Then Nature and Fancy their labours combined 
To store with their wonderful treasures thy mind ; 
—Now place we on thy head a crown, 
Fit for thy brows, and thine alone/" 

The poet bows, his looks express 

An intellectual consciousness ; 

His features are so heavenly fair, 

The mind, the eternal mind beams there* 



A CHARACTER. 



Alonzo was no common man, for few, 

Like him, the art of pleasing others knew ; 

Nature on him had kindly lavish' d all 

Those gifts that please alike in bower or hall ! 

His soul was bounteous, in his eyes shone forth 

A spirit that express'd his inward worth. 

His honour as the sun itself was bright, 

Though transient mists might intercept its light. 

Ambition {his a virtue) often turn'd 

His mind to deeds for which his spirit burn'd. 

Then would he knit on vacancy his brow, 

Till e'en with thought exprest, it seem'd to glow, 

Then dreams of greatness rush'd upon his brain — 

In better times, those dreams had not been vain ! 



280 A CHARACTER. 

Long had Hispania been misruled by those 
Who glut their little minds with others' woes ; 
Their sole delight to trample on their kind, 
As serpents taint the fairest things they find ; 
Danger had scowl'd on all who dared to break 
The bonds of silence for the people's sake. 
To speak of freedom — 'twas indeed to brave 
The prison's durance, to forestall the grave ! 
Alonzo knew it ; oft he wish'd to try 
The chance of war — to conquer or to die. 
The cause was hopeless, and to bleed alone 
Had more of rashness than of virtue shown, 
Since Chivalry, the nation's queen of yore, 
Roused in her sons life's energies no more. 
But thus compell'd to bear within his soul, 
Feelings that often strove to break controul — 
To stifle in his breast the will to dare — 
Nay, more, to find his talents buried there, 
By public virtue ne'er call'd forth to shine, 
Of honest counsels an exhaustless mine ! 



A CHARACTER. 281 

Oh, that were misery ! besides, to wait 

In seeming lowliness on slaves of state ; 

Or else, the game of spies, to fret away, 

In restless fear, day lingering after day. 

These evils all so smote upon his heart, 

He could not bear them ; no, he must depart ; 

Quit in disguise his land, his native Spain, 

To seek some foster-country o'er the main ! 



THE ABSENT POET TO HIS MISTRESS. 



Stay ! my charmer, can you leave me 1 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ; 

Well you know how much you grieve me. 
Cruel charmer, can you go 1 
Cruel charmer, can you go 1 — Burns. 



Doom'd thus to worship thee in vain. 

I mourn in sooth my rigid lot ; 
Yet happier in this secret pain, 

Than if thy beauty was forgot. 

The sigh to memory gives a, force, 

That brings before me all thy charms ; 

Of grief and joy alike the source, 
Of rapture, or of fond alarms. 



THE POET AND HIS MISTRESS. 283 

The smile, — for often will the smile 
Chase the sad shades of thought away, 

That darken o'er the brows awhile, 
As clouds o'ercast an April day — 

The smile re-animates my heart ; 

Remembrance gives its welcome aid : 
Then mine, and mine alone, thou art ; 

But soon the phantom-pleasures fade ! 

The smile is fled — the sudden beam 
That o'er the past so brightly shone, 

Now fades away ; the fainter gleam 
Of promised happiness is gone. 

Oh ! would Futurity unveil 

What must be, to my mental eye ! 
My spirit then might cease to quail, 

When hopes and fears for ever die. 



2G4 THE ABSENT POET 

Again to meet thee ; then to love 
With all the zest surprise can bring ; 

Again to find my absent clove, 
Again to hear my syren sing— 

This will I hope ; yet, self-deceiving, 
Like younglings laughing o'er the bowl, 

That pleasure is their friend believing — - 
Thus hope intoxicates the soul. 

Still is thy dear resemblance mine : 
How mild, how eloquent that look ! 

Those eyes like twin-stars seem to shine : 
I yet possess thee— though forsook;— 

Forsook by her who loved me more, 

As once I thought, than words can tell ; 

In Spenser's verse we learn'd love's lore. 
And thou, dear, wert my Florimel. 



TO HIS MISTRESS. 285 

This cheat of fancy long beguiled 

Our winter nights, our summer days ; 

And Spenser's gentle spirit smiled 
To hear two lovers hymn his praise. 

And then Cleopolis on earth 

Inimitable, oft we sought : 
And oft applauded valour's worth, 

As knights with savage giants fought : — 

Enough of this ; my care-worn mind 
Less happy thoughts must now engage I 

Mine own dear love I cannot find ; 
Can fabled loves my grief assuage ? 



THE DEATH OF HOSSEIN. 



This affecting narration of the death of Hossein, the grandson of Mahomet, 
may be read (it is, indeed, a pleasure to read it,) in " Gibbon's Decline and 
Fall of the Roman Empire," vol. v. page 268, quarto edition. 



The Fatimites wearied, yet fearless oppose, 
Though thinn'd in their numbers, their multiplied foes ; 
With despair in their looks, how they rage o'er the field! 
Though broken, their triumph is never to yield ; 

Their sabres well-flesh' d, still gleam in the air, 
They fight like the lion aroused from his lair ; 
Each stroke is a death-blow, — in vain, for beneath 
The pressure of myriads their last gasp they breathe. 









THE DEATH OF HOSSEIN. 287 

But one yet remains. On, boasters ! and slay 
The noblest of victims that's stricken to-day! 
'Tis Hossein the good,— unarm' d, yet unmoved, 
Though his heart inly bleeds for the brave ones he loved. 

Near his tent he awaits the sad signal, and see ! 
His boys in the spring-time of age on his knee ; 
He weeps, but the tear for their sorrow is shed, 
Now, now, to their hearts swift the death-shaft is sped. 

O ! spare him, ye murderers, childless, alone ! 

He bends o'er the lifeless, their death-knell his groan ; 

He cries to his God in his agony now, 

The damp sweat commingling with blood on his brow. 

Still merciless ! on, ye brave monsters ! imbrue 
Your hands in his blood, who is praying for you. 
Bereft of its ivy, the desolate wall 
Invites the destroyer to hasten its fall : — 



288 THE DEATH OF HOSSEIN. 

The warrior is dying ! what spirit appears 

To rush from his tent ? — 'tis his sister in tears ! 

" Yet save him — my brother — look, look how he bleeds t 

" Oh, Shamar!" — in vain the fair suppliant pleads ! 

He is slain! — but the Moslems yet cherish his fame, 
And dear to the hearts of the young is his name : 
And the aged revere it ; the freeman and slave 
Still mourn for the death of the gentle and brave. 



VERSES 

OX THE DEATH OF 

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 



Well might the comic Muse, with drooping head, 
Heave the deep sigh — her Sheridan is dead: 
The sisters mourn for him, whose master-mind 
Each separate talent in itself combined, 
Wit, eloquence, and poetry ; the fame 
Of either had immortalized his name, 
O, could the Muse's skill but match her zeal, 
Then might the mournful lay, like his, appeal 
To British hearts ; like his, when Garrick died, 
How glow'd the verse to sympathy allied ! 
Each word with plaintive sweetness charm'd the ear. 
As flowers exhale a fragrance o'er the bier, 

u 



290 ON THE DEATH OF 

Where is the mourner now, whose bosom bled 
For kindred genius gone ? — he too is dead ! 
Turn to the scenes of mimic life, there view 
The characters our young Menander drew. 
Caprice in all her wayward fits display'd, 
Folly in all her nicer shades pourtray'd ; 
The testiness of age — the soldier's sense — 
The maiden's sweet discourse — Love's eloquence ; 
The lively wife, not quite by fashion spoil' d, 
The smooth artificer of mischief foil'd ; 
The generous rake, for, lingering near his heart, 
His better genius would not yet depart : — 
These true to nature, still adorn our stage, 
Or, in his calm retreat, amuse the sage. 
These, like the gems of rarer worth are prized, 
When those of transient value are despised. 

In senates, there his talents shone confest; 

As wit delighted, passion storm'd the breast. 

The mind, with taste, sense, judgment, feeling, fraught, 

Seem'd to be blest by more than human thought J 



R. BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 291 

Hence burning words, for freedom gave the choice? 
The lightning of his eye, the magic of his voice ! 

When social mirth beam'd forth in every eye, 
His was the lively jest, the keen reply; 
The flow of soul, wit season' d high the song, 
While playful Fancy drove old Time along. 

As glides a solemn stream by some dark grove 
Of cypress trees that mournful sigh above, — 
Following his loved remains, the good and great 
March* d sadly onwards in funereal state, 
To that proud scene, where patriots, poets lie, 
(Sacred their dust — their fame shall never die) — - 
There last, not least, our Sheridan was laid, 
There weeping Friendship her sad tribute paid. 

Ye noble few, whose mem'ries ponder o'er 
His cheerful smile, his wit's unfailing store, 
Bright to the last ; how graceful are your tears, 
They tell of what he was in happier years. 

u 2 



292 ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. 

The friend, whose genius shed its vivid ray, 
Far from your hearts to drive life's cares away — 
The gay companion, sharers in whose mirth, 
You had forgot that sorrow dwelt on earth. 

Ye fair, who knew his elegance of mind, 
His soul, still breathing in the verse refined ; 
His purity of heart tow'rds her he loved, 
(Her fondness by the bitterest trial proved) — 
While in your hearts the fond affections live, 
His faults, whate'er they were, you must forgive. 
And you, you all, whom many a sprightly scene 
Waking applause, shall teach what he has been ; 
Who still revere the patriot, love the bard, 
From envy's blight his sacred mem'ry guard ! 
While glory circling round his cold, pale urn, 
By Fancy watch'd, shall undefiled burn, 



AN EVENING IN CUBA* 



The clearness and brilliancy of the heavens, the serenity of the air, and 
the soft tranquillity in which Nature reposes, contribute to harmonize the 
mind, and produce calm and delightful sensations. 

Edwards's West Indies, vol. 1. page 10. 



How lovely was that eve, the moon shone clear. 
Not e'en a vapoury cloud was sailing near ! 
The fire-flies swarm' d around with fitful glare, 
Like magic gems, they sparkled through the air. 
Now glow'd the stars, in such a bright array, 
They seem'd to lighten forth a milder day : 
There might th' exulting soul aspire to be 
Mingled with light through all eternity ! 



THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT, 

WRITTEN AFTER SEEING " T1M0N OF ATHENS" AT DRURY 
LANE THEATRE. 



I. 

Genius of fallen Babylon — behold 
In London, mart of opulence and vice, 
Thy scenes of former luxury unroll'd ! 
Here every thing, e'en woman, has its price : 
Here Mammon plies his subtle trade with dice 
Bevies of dainty damsels here abound, 
With Levi's tribe the unwary to entice, 
Till fortune, mind, and body be unsound : 
Corruption's fatal gulfs here menace all around ! 



THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. 295 

II. 
Much is allowed to youth, to feelings strong, 
To Pleasure's tempting look, companions gay ; 
He who would scorn the soul-awak'ning song, 
Whose heart is shut 'gainst beauty's genial ray, — 
He would despise the loveliness of May; — 
Not outward, no, nor inward sunshine warms 
His soul, himself a moving mass of clay. 
The goodliest prospect has for him no charms ; 
He never, never felt the lover's sweet alarms. 

in. 
Awake to life ! — no more of harlot's smiles 
Dream, nor the noisy merriment of knaves. 
How many losels perish by the wiles 
Of sweet Aspasias, Timon's grateful slaves. 
Lo ! the trim yacht rides buoyant o'er the waves, 
Fairer in show, more fragile than the rest 
Of meaner barks : the sudden tempest raves — 
Amidst th' ignoble craft she rolls distrest, 
It nought avails her now to be so gaily drest. 



296 THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. 

IV. 
'Tis vain to mourn — yet oft remorse will tear 
The breast, from which all virtues are not wrung 
By wantonness, false witch, whose aspect fair 
Blinds doating eld, but fascinates the young, 
Till by her arts their sinews are unstrung, 
Their strength exhausted ; — wasted in their prime, 
They mar those hopes to which their parents clung. 
Fame, fortune, genius sacrificed to crime — 

And all these lessons learn din boyhood's happier time ! 

v. 
Life is a blank to those whom Fancy blest 
E'en ill their infancy ; for why ? they scorn, 
When Pleasure, warmly sought, has lost her zest, 
Those social duties for which man is born : — 
A long, long night succeeds their lovely morn ! 
Where shall the luckless child of Nature turn, 
Baffled by hope, by fiercer passions torn ? 
He dares the wisdom of the world to spurn, 

Yet by the world misled, for ever doom'd to mourn ! 



THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. 207 

VI* 

Be then utility alone the aim 

Of all thy actions ; ere it be too late 

The doubtful meed of poesy disclaim. 

Let nobler hopes thy glowing soul elate, 

With honest zeal uphold the sinking state : 

Be this the penance for thy follies past. 

Far better than in maudlin verse to prate 

Of what in days of revelry thou wast : 
Shall self-recorded vice its acted time outlast ? 

VII. 

Invention too must cease to yield delight ; 

For pleasure has its limits : then refrain 

Awhile from courting Fancy's aid — poor wight ! 

Thoughts too intense will prey upon thy brain : — 

Since e'en an o'er-fraught memory brings pain. 

Nature's unbounded realms would'st thou explore ? 

She views thy puny efforts with disdain : 

The learned are but idlers on her shore ; 
So deem'd that wond'rous man best skill'd in Nature's 
lore. ( a ) 



298 THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT. 

VIII. 

Thy brethren in distress demand thy care, 
Whose only bed is now the cold damp earth ; 
Go these relieve ; — far sweeter is the prayer 
For thee, for thine, that gratitude pours forth, 
Than heartless praises, which the sons of mirth, 
Madd'ning with lust and wine, on thee bestow. 
Shall they to-morrow still proclaim thy worth, 
Who with o'erflowing zeal to-night do glow ? 
Fond liberal fool ! I fear 'twill not indeed be so ? 

IX. 

O Howard, Reynolds ! names to man more dear 
Than those of heroes who have fought and died ! 
You follow'd well our Saviour's footsteps here, 
While dove-eyed Charity—- celestial guide — 
Scatter'd unnumber'd blessings by your side ! 
To save the soul opprest by guilt, to give 
To virtuous industry an honest pride ; 
This your ambition, may it ever live — 
Fresh with the dews of heaven its boundless laurels 
thrive. 



NOTE ON « THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT." 

( a ) So deem'd that wond'rous man, &c. 

" It is related of Sir Isaac Newton, that in speaking, on 
some occasion, of his discoveries, he compared himself to a 
boy collecting pebbles on the sea-shore." 



FREEDOM. 



Freedom stands upon the hill, 
Crowns are scatter'd at her feet ; 

Power now bends unto her will, 
Nature's sons her presence greet. 

How she mocks the pride of kings ! 

How she scorns the idle show ! 
Now, she cries, on eagle's wings, 

"Gainst the thankless tribe 1 11 go, 

Virtue, Wisdom, you alone 
Just pre-eminence deserve ; 

Attributes to that high throne 
Which the freest love to serve. 



FREEDOM. 301 

Break the prison gates, behold 

Men of intellect divine 
Forced by things of coarser mould, 

In the dungeon s gloom to pine ! 

See ! the tyrant raises high, 

Girt with battlements around, 
Towers, that seem to brave the sky : 

His strength is nought — his hopes unsound. 

Be he robed in purple pall, 

Death shall seize the gorgeous prize ( 
Though before him thousands fall, 

Freemen shout " Revenge" — he dies ! 



THE STORM. 



Loud howl the winds around, the sea on high 
Bandies its giant waves against the sky. 
Now the red lightnings run along the ground 
Trees snapt asunder from the earth rebound 
The sweeping tempest hurries on its way, 
Ocean and earth, and heaven, alike its prey. 



THE SONG OF NOUZONIHAR * 



hush thy complaints, my dear youth U 
Gulchenrouz, my darling, believe 

1 love thee, I speak but the truth ; 

And when was I known to deceive ? 

I will suffer no Gouls to be near 

The boy whom I love and protect ; 
Then, my Meignoun, away with all fear, 

Nor the faith of your Leilah suspect.f 

* See " The Caliph Vathek." 

f Ce mot de Meignoun est devenu aussi le nom d'un fameux 
personnage que les Orientaux prennent pour le modele d'un 
parfait amant. Sa maitresse qui se nomnioit Leilah est regar- 
ded aussi par les memes Orientaux comrae la plus belle, et la 
plus chaste de toutes celles de son sexe. —Bibliotheque Orient ale 
d'Herbelot, Art. Meignoun. 



304 THE SONG OF NOUZONIHAR„ 

The bulbul may woo the sweet rose. 
But thy cheek is the rose that I love : 

Let us search where the Peris repose ; 
As through jessamine bowers we rove. 

The sapphire is bright, but more blue 
Are thine eyes, and more lovely to me 

Than the sapphire's deep light, or the hue 
Of the violet sought by the bee. 

O light as the antelope's leaps 

Are thy feet in the dance, and the glow 
Of thy breast is the rose-hue that sleeps 

At sunset on vases of snow. 



END OF " POEMS WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH. 



TO THE LADY 



That look again ! 'tis like the milder ray 

Of eve in climes far lovelier than our own, 
That woos the lonely wanderer to stray 

Through scenes which ne'er night's deeper shades 
imbrown. r 

So mild ; all other thoughts are hush'd away, 

Save those that rise from rapture's gaze alone : 
Thine is this quiet radiance, that beguiles 

All sense of pain, that dazzles not, but smiles. 



RECOLLECTIONS AT 



WRITTEN IN OCT. 1826, 



Wild flowers, that Fancy o'er our path has strown, 
So gay in youth, maturer years imbrown ; 
Nature's high instinct, like the vernal gales, 
In childhood fresh'ning o'er the heart, prevails I 
Shadows of beauty then around us come 
Like trails of glory from the soul's first home, 
Embellishing existence — they are gone, 
Gone like the light that yesterday hath shone. 

Yet forms that are most beautiful remain, 
They do not woo the poet's love in vain : 



RECOLLECTIONS AT 307 

While his fine genius gives to all he sees 
Their natural colours, they must ever please ! 
His thought-embodying mind can well express 
Sensations others do not feel the less. 

With variegated hues adorn'd, below 

A mellow autumn's sun, the woodlands glow ; 

All is unbreathing silence, not a rush 

Stirs, not a sound breaks through the noon-day hush. 

Years have elapsed, but what are years, since they, 

Whom I remember here, have past away ! 

Like to a sun-burst gathering clouds among, 

Probus shone forth above the worldly throng 

That walk in darkness, warming all who came 

Within his influence, yet unmark'd by fame. ( a ) 

He drew towards God, with sweet attractive force, 

Those who deflected from the proper course. 

Though mild to others, to himself severe, 

He ne'er relax' d, content that Heaven was near : 

Religion on his heart betimes engraved 

The maxim, " Be thou watchful to be saved,'* 



308 RECOLLECTIONS AT 



His mind, within its tenement of dust, 
Rose unassailable by passion's gust: 
The pyramid, thus heavenward pointing, stands 
Above the desert's ever-whirling sands. 

Habitual piety had given a tone 

Of feeling to him, that seem'd his alone ; 

The calm intensity of which, unquelfd 

By tumults of the world, each act impelFd. 

He has received the meed of faith, and now 

The cross shines forth triumphant on his brow. 

He too, who while on earth could nothing find 
To satisfy the longings of his mind. 
So ill by grosser spirits understood, 
May realize his dream of perfect good. 

That dream a light prophetic, as he mused, 
Gradual his mind's horizon circumfused ; 
Promise through intervening mists of sense, 
Of knowledge infinite, of love intense : 



RECOLLECTIONS AT 309 

Love, as truth opes the everlasting doors 
Of Heaven for the beloved of God, outpours 
Through depths of space, from suns-embracing zones. 
Harmonious joy in fragrance-breathing tones. 

The light-encircled spirits seem to move 

As visitants from Heaven through yonder grove ; 

Though the world's follies be by them forgot, 

Yet they might wish to consecrate the spot, 

With their occasional presence, that on earth 

They loved, where ripen'd first for Heaven their worth ; 

There, there to flourish in its proper soil, 

Not asking, to support it, further toil. 

Virtue is there identified with Being, 

Splendours we vaguely guess at ever seeing ; 

Splendours ineffable, that Milton's pen 

Scarce shadowed out, above our mental ken. — 

Now they commingle with that holy race, 

Whom powers that emanate from God embrace ! 



310 RECOLLECTIONS AT 



Measureless knowledge — man here vainly craves — 
Now circumscribes them, as the sea its waves : 
Now flashing forth and vanishing by turns, 
Devotion's steady flame above them burns ; 
The Sun of happiness that scarcely cheers 
Our progress here, how bright to them appears ! 



NOTE ON RECOLLECTIONS AT 



( a ) Within his influence, yet unmarked by fame. 

Many a time God is present in the still voice and private 
retirement of a quiet religion, and the constant spirituali- 
ties of an ordinary life ; when the loud and impetuous winds, 
and the strong fires of more laborious and expensive actions, 
are profitable to others ; like a tree of balsam distilling 
precious liquors for others, not for its own use. — Jeremy 
Taylor. 



. ADDRESS TO MY CIGAR, 

WRITTEN UNDER ITS OPERATIVE INFLUENCE, 
" Exfumo dare lucent." 



Cigar, thou comfort of my life, 

With joy I taste thy fragrant leaf; 
It soothes me when my heart's at strife 

With the world's cares ; it gives relief 
When at an Inn in lonely hour 

Blue Devils rush before my sight ; 
Its sweet intoxicating power 

Turns Devils into Angels bright : 
The cold that chills my feeble frame, 

As damps arise, it soon dispels ; 
In thee composure, or what name 

Does better suit the feeling, dwells. 



ADDRESS TO MY CIGAR. 313 

A self-complacency that creeps 

O'er all the senses, thou alone 
Canst give ; then every passion sleeps, 

And thought assumes a milder tone. 
At every whiff, a gentle heat 

Like that of Love within me glows : 
Through thee my friends are doubly sweet 

To me, I almost love my foes. — 
If such thy virtues be, Cigar, 

When other consolations fail, 
If thou canst drive from man afar, 

Those sorrows that his heart assail ; 
If thou canst make the world appear 

As in a glass of Claude Lorrain 
Of loveliest hues — why then, 'tis clear 

Thou better art than Wright's Champagne I 



THE WOOD-NYMPH. 



Saw you the Wood-Nymph pass this way, 

As light in her step as a spirit of air, 
With cheeks all glowing, with look so gay, 

While the breeze plays with her beautiful hair ? 

Nature alone can give the grace 

That tempers vivacity in her fair form ; 

Like Dian she moves, but her lovely face 
With rose-hues Dione might envy is warm. 

She bounded along like the gentle fawn 

Through the glade, then rapidly glided awayT 

Thus vanish the fairies at break of dawn, 

When their revels have ended beneath the moons 
ray. 



WRITTEN ON A FINE MORNING 



" The morn is up, by Heavens ! a lovely morn, 
With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom. 
Laughing away the clouds." 

Byron, 

Another morn will rise 
With splendour on its wings, 

But this for ever flies 

Away. While beauty flings 

A thousand colours o'er 

The earth, they reappear : 
Yet thou wilt never more 

Our hearts exulting cheer. 



316 ON A FINE MORNING, 

Sweet morn, on balmy gales 

Where dost thou speed thy flight ? 

To worlds where Love prevails 
And wantons with Delight ; 

Where ever blooming youth, 
With Pleasure at his side, 

And Innocence and Truth 
In golden courts abide. 

Then gentle morn awhile 
Thy odours let me breathe : 

Heaven seems above to smile, 
Tis Paradise beneath. 

Flowers freshly gemm'd with dew 
In tears entreat thy stay ; 

And birds of every hue 

Sing " Why so soon away ?' ? 



ON A FINE MORNING. 317 

The massy woods whose deep 

Green is illumed with gold, 
Would fain the colours keep 

Thy radiance doth unfold. 

Thy rose-hues, lovely morn ! 

Yet linger on the lake ; 
Then why as soon as born 

Wilt thou the world forsake ? 



BELIEVE ME, SHE IS TRUE INDEED. 



Believe me, she is true indeed, 
Whatever you surmise ; 

Impartial be, and you may read 
Her faith in her bright eyes. 

Beaming with candour, every look 
Gives evidence of Love ; 

Oh do not then of Nature's book 
The language disapprove ! 

Her smiles most eloquently speak 
The self-approving glow 

Of conscience, roses on her cheek 
The health of virtue show. 



BELIEVE ME, &c. 319 

Hypocrisy could never give 

To woman such a grace ; 
As seems, a sign from Heaven, to live 

In her angelic face. 

Believe me she is true indeed, 

Whatever you surmise ; 
Impartial be, and you may read 

Her faith in her bright eyes. 



VERSES ON HAWTHORNDEN. 



Who can describe thy charms, sweet Hawthornden, 

Fit residence of poetry and love ! 
What fair variety is here ! the glen, 

Rocks clothed with oak, and beech that rise above 
The Esk's impetuous stream below, the ken 

Of thy romantic mansion, as we rove, 
Thy winding walks among ! ah, where 's the pen 

Of thine own bard, to paint wood, rock, and cove ? 



NOTE, 



Hawthornden, once the abode of the Poet Drummond. is 
placed on a high rock or precipice, overlooking the river 
Esk, that runs rapidly below : the rocky sides of the glen, 
as you approach this delightful retreat, are covered with 
oak and birch that spring up from every crevice.* There 
are several caves in the rocks, in one of which, it is said 
that the Datriot Wallace was concealed for two davs. 



* " How fresh an' fair o' varied hue, 
Ilk tufted haunt o' sweet Buccleugh ! 
What bliss ilk green retreat to hail, 
Where Melvile Castle cheers the vale ; 
An' Mavisbank sae rural gay, 
Looks bonnie down the woodland brae : 
But doubly fair ilk darling scene, 
That screens the bowers of Hawthorn-dean." — Gall. 



PERFECTIBILITY. 



The age of Sophists, Economists, and Calculators has succeeded. 

Burke. 



While Institutions thrive, and boys are made 
Philosophers by adventitious aid — 
While e'en the difference 'twixt right and wrong 
Must now to calculation's art belong — 
While barren axioms, with much parade, 
Are as increase of mental wealth display'd — 
While dull materialists will not believe 
That there are modes our senses can't perceive, 
Rapid as thought, and bodiless as light, 
As if what is, must present be to sight — 
Some seers predict, their prescience not divine, 
That in this world far greater lights will shine. 



PERFECTIBILITY. 323 

Then through the night of ages will the star 
Of Shakspeare seem a luminous point afar : 
That Governments more perfect will be wrought 
By an improved machinery of thought ! 

Power yet evades, with cunning for a guide, 
Deep plans by knowledge framed to curb his pride. 
Awhile he may recede ; but reappears, 
As Superstition vile her flag uprears : 
Then (let the theorist of his race be proud,) 
Around her troop the pomp-adoring crowd : 
The despot slily fastens on their necks 
His chain, adieu to legislative checks ! 

Lovers of liberty, alas! proclaim 

That man through life has but one selfish aim ; 

That every act, whatever be its fruit, 

In self-regarding interest takes its root : 

A noble doctrine this, our hopes to cheer; 

Fine promise of the millenary year ! 



324 PERFECTIBILITY. 

While all that grace and beautify our lives 
Must now be thrown aside, as Reason thrives ; 
And Poesy, divested of the warm 
Colours that Fancy gives, must lose her charms. 

Is an Utopian commonwealth the sole 
Object of thought, that only reason's goal ? 
And has the world unknown no higher bliss 
Than that which sanguine minds predict in this 3 
Minds that are mechanized by logic learn 
To think by rule, but not for virtue yearn. 
Virtue a never-failing zeal requires 
To spread her influence, such as Love inspires. 
Has the philologist e'er sown the seed 
From which springs up to life a virtuous deed ? 
Has the self-pluming moralist o'erthrown 
Idolaters of sense, who faith disown ? 

But now devotion, fond enthusiasts say, 
Diffuses all around a brighter day. 
Seeming Religion walks not in this age 
With noiseless step, like heralds on a stage 



PERFECTIBILITY. 32; 

Zealots blow loud the woe-trumpet, then urge 
Denunciations, rising surge o'er surge, 
Against their weaker brethren, through the town 
They gain — but where's their charity ? — renown. 

Where is the zeal for virtue that entire 

Circled the soul — an unconsuming fire, 

That strength of purpose, which, as Jesus still'd 

The raging sea, the calm of passions wilFd ? 

Though science heavenward oft sublimely soars, 

And amid worlds discover'd God adores — 

Yet her disciples, analyzing laws 

Of matter, may forget the great First Cause. 

Unless humility, a flower once prized, 

But, in this wiser age, a weed despised, 

Shall with its pride-subduing virtue quell 

Thoughts that are wont around vain hearts to swell ! 

Who like the poet-Preacher* glows with love 
Inbreathed by the Great 'Spirit from above ! 

* Jeremy Taylor. 



326 PERFECTIBILITY. 

Who once on sacred heads in tongues of flame. 
Down from the triune Sun of Glory came ; 
Illumining with inward light, exprest 
Thus visibly, the synod of the blest ! 

Jan. 30. 



A SEA- VIEW. 



A Sun impurpled glow 

Is on the waveless sea, 
And not a breeze doth blow, 

And not a sail I see. 

Like heaven's own pavement bright,* 
Is now the placid deep, 

On which the farewell light 
Of sunset loves to sleep. 

Thus beautiful in death 
Is youth's departing flush ; 

And lovely is the wreath . 
Where latest roses blush. 

* Impurpled, like a sea of jasper shone. — Milton. 
Bognory September 25, 18S0. 



TO A LARK. 

The hymeneal chant 

While youthful hearts do pant, 
Rising like incense rich, around a bridegroom 
king, 

Its strains cannot compare 

With thine for notes so rare 
That from thy joyous heart exultingly do spring. 

Thy music is thine own ; 

A soul-enchanting tone 
By ecstasy inbreath'd, when thou wast born, to be 

A soaring song of Love 

Imbodied, that above » 

Mocks our most vivid joys with its aerial glee. 

THE END. 
LONDON : 



PRINTED BV SAMUEL BENTLEY 
Dorsft Street, Fleet Street. 



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